Hearts in Overdrive
by UndercoverSquint
Summary: After stumbling upon the suspicious deaths of two men from Brennan's past, she is determined to learn the truth about how they died. Booth and Brennan deal with the emotional fallout of their discoveries as the events of S3 unfold. Part 3 of 3. Rated M for Smut and Language. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome back, my wonderful readers! I didn't expect my break to be quite this long, but real life sucks sometimes. As always, I want to give a special thanks to my beta chosenname. She came up with the title of this story, and it's absolutely perfect. She also puts up with my frustration and doubts over my writing, and I couldn't be more appreciative.**

 **I've decided on a posting schedule of twice per week for this story - Wednesdays and Saturdays. The reason I'm not sticking to the every other day schedule is due to a scheduled surgery on 10/19 (finally!) and the upcoming holidays. I've worked well ahead in the writing, so I shouldn't have an issue sticking with that schedule. That being said, my surgery is on a Wednesday, so I'll probably post the night before. Lucky you!**

 **I will warn you in advance - this first chapter is heavy. It had to be done, but I feel a heads up is appropriate.**

 **As always, the usual disclaimers apply. M rated for a reason and I don't own Bones. Obviously.**

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Chapter 1

Special Agent Seeley Booth sat alone in the home office he shared with his wife, staring at the aged file folder on the desk in front of him. He had watched her pull the file out of a small safe where it had been squeezed between the estate documents she'd told him about the previous fall. Though Booth knew full well what those documents entailed, he'd deliberately avoided them for the sake of his own peace of mind. It had never occurred to him that the stack of files might also contain information about his wife's past. Brennan had been called into the lab. She had offered to tell Cam she wasn't available so that she could stay with him while he read through the file, but Booth had declined. He had a fair idea of what he would find between the covers of that manila folder, and he could already feel his self-control slipping.

The thick file seemed to take up all of the space in the room, sucking the oxygen from the air until Booth couldn't look at the vile thing without feeling lightheaded. He'd stalled as long as possible: using the restroom, pouring himself a glass of scotch, and pacing the length of the room in attempt to stay calm. His thoughts flickered back to the events that had brought him to this moment, and he found himself wishing desperately that his wife had never been invited to speak at her alma mater.

They'd traveled to Chicago together, making an appearance at the anthropology conference at Northwestern before taking some time to enjoy a bit of the city together. It had been wonderful until they'd run into a woman named Melissa Wilkes. She had been in the system as well, and the two women had shared similar experiences in one of their homes. The news that their former foster father had died might have been welcome, had it not been for the disturbing circumstances of the man's death. In an attempt to put their suspicions at rest, Booth and Brennan had done some investigating before leaving Chicago. Unfortunately, their digging had only left them with more questions.

Booth glared at the manila folder again and took a large drink of his scotch, cursing himself for his weakness. He opened the folder with a trembling hand and felt his heart clench as he read the name at the top of the first page.

 _Temperance Brennan_.

The information was simple and straightforward at first. _Date of birth, height, weight…_ Brennan had been several inches shorter as a teenager, and her weight had been listed at a hundred and fifteen pounds. The file listed the date her case was opened as December 28, 1991. Fifteen-year-old Temperance stared up at him from a small photograph attached to the first page. Her eyes were guarded, and her familiar frown told him that she'd been stressed and troubled. Booth glanced at the list Brennan had written for him in Chicago, lying innocently on the desk next to the file. He matched the first name on her list with the first set of documents in the file.

Mr. and Mrs. David Anderson had taken her in as an emergency placement. Though that sort of arrangement was usually temporary, they had agreed from the very beginning to foster Brennan on a more permanent basis. Booth had been curious when he'd read Brennan's brief explanation for leaving their home: 'They requested a change of placement.' The horrible details of the homes that had followed had overshadowed his curiosity that day, but now he was left wondering again. The notes from the caseworker were vague and generalized, but the statements provided by the Andersons were slightly more detailed. They'd claimed that Brennan had refused to speak to them unless it was absolutely necessary and that she had been withdrawn and sullen, locking herself in her room during the hours that she wasn't in school. After three months with little or no progress, they had contacted Brennan's caseworker to request that she be placed in a different home.

Booth squeezed his eyes shut briefly and shook his head in disgust. _The girl had lost her entire family,_ he thought angrily. _Did they expect her to be happy about it?_ He vaguely recalled the first real conversation they'd had about her time in the system and the comment she'd made about foster families who wanted 'normal' children. _This was what she meant,_ he realized. _She was depressed, and they banished her for it._

He moved on to the next set of documents, naming Mr. and Mrs. Paul Carter as the foster parents. Booth glanced again at Brennan's handwritten list, and the words blurred slightly as he read the end result of this placement. _Neglect. Food/water deprivation._ His wife had been a thin child to begin with, but in the four months she'd spent with the Carters, they had managed to starve her to a weight registering just over a hundred pounds. The situation had gotten worse after the end of the school year, when Brennan could no longer take advantage of the free breakfast and lunch at school. After several weeks with minimal food and water at home, she had run away. She hadn't turned up again until the middle of July when a caseworker at a homeless shelter had reported her to social services. Brennan informed her DCFS caseworker that the Carter's had used starvation and dehydration as punishments for perceived infractions. She and the other children in the home had been confined to their bedrooms the majority of the time, and any food in the house had literally been kept under lock and key. Although Brennan hadn't been sent back to their home, there was no mention of a reprimand for the Carters.

Booth had known about the neglect, but Brennan had never told him about running away or staying in homeless shelters as a teenager. He thought back to the Dylan Crane case from the year before, when Brennan had bonded with a teenaged boy who, ironically enough, had called himself Carter. They had talked about their 'lists,' and she had given him some cash so that he could buy himself a proper coat. Booth sighed and rubbed his aching temples, wondering where Carter was now.

He took another heavy gulp of scotch and gave himself a mental shake, reminding himself that he hadn't even gotten to the hardest parts yet. The third name on the list made him sit up a little straighter and renew his focus. Mr. and Mrs. James Hammel had fostered Brennan for less than three months before she'd run away again. She had listed physical and emotional abuse as the reasons for the transition from their home, but once again, she'd left out the fact that she had run away. Brennan had made several reports to her caseworker about the abuse, but there had never been any physical evidence to show. The caseworker had conducted a lazy investigation in which she'd concluded that the allegations were unfounded. Booth ground his teeth in fury, knowing that the 'investigation' had probably led to more abuse. He wanted to scream in frustration with a system that seemed to treat every child like a liar, and he felt sickened at the memory of falling for that stereotype in the course of his work.

James Hammel hadn't escaped his karma in the end, however. While Booth and Brennan had been looking into the death of Bill Taylor, who was listed as foster father number eight, they had discovered that Hammel and Taylor had died within weeks of one another, under eerily similar circumstances. Brennan suspected that her father had been involved, and if Booth were being completely honest, he would have to agree. Although there was no real proof of her father's involvement, Booth knew one thing for certain: Max Keenan took care of his own.

Booth checked the list again and took a deep breath before turning the page. He knew more of this story than any of the others. He'd been horrified at Brennan's description of the two days she had spent locked in the trunk of a car as punishment for breaking a dish. Glancing at the timeline she'd given him, he recalled the story she'd told him about Russ's first attempt to contact her on her birthday. She'd been with Mr. and Mrs. Jack Campbell for only a few weeks prior to her birthday, and the phone call had resulted in the first beating she'd received in the Campbells' home. After her experience with the Hammels, it seemed that Brennan had been more reluctant to report the abuse. There were no incident reports on file until December of that year.

Booth knew what the report would say, for the most part. But he hadn't expected there to be pictures. His breath caught in his chest as he gazed at the first photograph. Brennan's beautiful blue eyes were wide with panic, her face was dirty, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her skin was paler than he'd ever seen it, and her expression was frantic. There were a few snapshots of her on an emergency room bed, but her quick movements had blurred the images. The last of them depicted two orderlies restraining her so that a nurse could administer a sedative.

The words of the ER report leapt out at him as his entire body began to shake violently. _Exposure. Dehydration. Hypotension. Acute anxiety._ The ER doctor had made a point of noting that Brennan's survival had been somewhat miraculous. Had it not been for the mild winter and the fact that the Campbells' car had been in a garage, she would most likely have died before being discovered.

Booth had reached his limit. The contents of his stomach rose up despite his best efforts, and he vomited into the small trash can they kept next to the desk. When at last the heaving subsided, he buried his face in his hands and fought to regain control of his emotions. Booth would've liked nothing more than to toss the file into an incinerator, but he knew that wasn't an option. And as much as he wanted to walk away and put the rest of it off for another day, he realized that stalling would likely do more harm than good. This wouldn't be the last time he'd have to read those terrible reports or look at those heartbreaking images.

He rose from the desk to replace his scotch with a glass of water and rinse out the trash can. With enormous effort, he returned to the task at hand. After the trunk incident, the state had opted to assign Brennan's case to a different social worker, though from what Booth could tell, this one had been no better than the first. The man's notes were just as vague, but it was clear that he'd had no patience for Brennan. She'd been sent to a therapist following the trunk incident, and the shrink had described her as withdrawn, taciturn, and defiant. Brennan had refused to speak about the incident, and if she opened her mouth at all during their sessions, it was to give short, one-word answers. Booth felt himself agreeing with her much-avowed distaste for psychologists as he read the reports. Even if the quack had possessed twice the amount of compassion he'd shown in his reports, there was no way he should have been in a position to work with traumatized children. After a couple weeks of inpatient treatment and observation, Brennan had been sent to yet another foster home.

Booth sipped his water cautiously, reading the next name on his wife's list. Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Roberts had fostered Brennan from late December of '92 to April of '93. It had been another case of physical abuse, but this one had been confirmed by the caseworker as well as an ER doctor. Contusions in several stages of healing had indicated that Brennan had been beaten multiple times before the incident that had finally resulted in her removal from the home. Aaron Roberts had thrown her down a long flight of stairs, resulting in a concussion, a sprained wrist, and a fractured rib.

There were photographs of this ER visit as well, and Booth fought the urge to rip them to shreds. Her brilliant blue eyes, so bright with panic after the previous incident, now appeared dull and lifeless. Every bruise and cut had been photographed, but there had been no need for a sedative this time. Her vacant expression haunted him, reminding him forcibly of the times he'd seen that same emptiness in they eyes of a corpse. She'd been admitted for treatment of her injuries as well as for shock. The doctors had used words like _catatonic_ and _post-traumatic stress disorder_. She'd been referred to a shrink that time as well, with near-identical results.

Eventually, they'd released her to another foster home, and Booth was relieved that the reports on the next placement didn't include pictures. He wasn't sure he could stomach any more photographs, and he knew that the images he'd seen would continue to torment him indefinitely. Brennan had noted that Mr. and Mrs. Michael Lewis had requested a change of placement, but she had also included the words _emotional and verbal abuse_. The caseworker's notes on this particular family were minimal. There were no incident reports and no complaints from either Brennan or the Lewis family until around the four-month mark when they had formally requested her removal from their home. They'd claimed that she was obstinate, rude, lazy, and withdrawn, all of which culminated in a bad family environment. Booth frowned at the ridiculous description and wished that he'd allowed Brennan to stay with him, if only so that he could feel her familiar warmth in his arms. _Did anyone_ ever _show her kindness?_ he wondered. _Surely there was someone, somewhere, who recognized that she was special...that she was hurting._

Booth turned the page with a heavy heart to read the next entry. Almost as if in answer to his silent questions, the description of Brennan's next placement was blessedly free of abuse. She had lived with Mr. and Mrs. Troy Collins for about four months until December '93 when the couple had requested a change. Mrs. Collins had gotten pregnant, and the situation had been high-risk. They had felt that they no longer had the ability to care for Brennan on top of the health concerns, so once again she was transitioned to a new home. Booth supposed he could understand the Collins' perspective, but his heart ached for the seventeen-year-old girl who had most likely thought that she'd finally found some peace, only to have it ripped away from her.

The next family on the list was Mr. and Mrs. William Taylor, and Booth felt his pulse quicken at the details he recalled about this placement. Brennan had long since told him about the physical abuse that occurred there, and her description of the events still echoed in his mind. She'd explained, almost casually, that she'd been molested 'at least one time that she knew of.' The nonchalant tone she'd used had disturbed him, but after having read through the majority of her foster care file, he supposed that being molested might have seemed minor in comparison to what she'd already endured by that point.

It had been in the Taylor home that Brennan had met Melissa Wilkes, and both girls had been abused by Bill Taylor throughout their time there. Brennan had reported an incident of physical abuse in which her head had been slammed into a wall repeatedly until rendering her unconscious. When she'd awoken, Taylor had been on top of her. There was nothing in the file about a rape kit or medical examination being performed, but the caseworker's investigation had resulted in Brennan's immediate removal from the home. Unfortunately, however, the change in placement occurred at the demand of Taylor's wife, who had accused Brennan of seducing her husband. Taylor had never been charged with child abuse or molestation, and as Brennan had explained previously, her file had been marked as a behavior case. In addition to the self-isolation and attitude problems she'd already been accused of, the caseworker had then added _promiscuous_ to Brennan's list of ridiculous descriptors.

 _One more,_ Booth sighed internally. _You can do this_. He inhaled deeply for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon and turned to the last placement report in the file. Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Edwards had fostered Brennan until she'd aged out of the system, and there was once again very little documentation of her time with them. She had cited emotional and verbal abuse on her handwritten list, but it appeared that she'd never reported it to her caseworker or anyone else. Booth couldn't blame her. He guessed that by that point, she had probably given up on any hopes of being treated like a human being and was merely thankful that she wasn't being physically harmed.

Brennan had turned eighteen in October of 1994, while she was still attending high school as a senior. There was an exit report in her file, but it revealed nothing about what had happened to her after leaving the Edwards' home. The last pages in the file were Brennan's high school transcripts up to the end of her junior year. She had maintained a steady 4.0 GPA throughout her time in the system. She'd taken advanced placement classes, kept herself busy with extracurricular activities, and had no negative reports on her school record whatsoever.

Booth closed the file and gripped it tightly, his hands shaking as he fought back the rage that threatened to overwhelm him. He unclenched his fists long enough to drop the folder on the desk, and within seconds he was headed toward the basement, taking the steep steps at a run. His vision was a red haze as he pummeled the large suspended punching bag, not bothering to put on gloves or even tape his knuckles.

Though he knew that his fists were making contact with the bag, he neither felt nor heard the impact. His mind was overrun with images and words, some typed or scribbled decades ago on the numerous reports, others spoken in his wife's voice.

'Exposure and dehydration.' _Punch_. 'Acute anxiety and PTSD.' _Punch._ 'Multiple contusions, concussions, and fractures.' _Punch, punch, punch._ He slammed his fists hard into the bag for each of the names on her list, a punch for each terrible lie that someone had told about her, for each time the system had let her down, for every A she'd earned in spite of the hell she'd been living…

The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins never waned, and when Brennan returned home several hours later, she was alarmed to find him still attacking the punching bag as though the object itself had done him bodily harm. Droplets of blood were flying from the surface of the bag every time Booth's fists made contact.

"Booth! Booth, stop!" She pulled back on his arms, but his movements never ceased. He didn't seem to hear her at all, and his face was wet from the tears that had been flowing silently for the last few hours. Brennan faltered for a moment, unsure of the best approach. She knew what had put him in this state, and she was now cursing her decision to go to the lab that afternoon.

Brennan stepped behind her husband and very carefully wrapped her arms around his torso, holding him tightly in spite of his rapid breathing and the forceful movements of his arms and shoulders. The effect was instantaneous. The punching stopped, and the adrenaline began to dissipate quickly. _Too quickly_. Booth collapsed to his knees, fighting to remain conscious as he felt Brennan's arms still around him.

 _She's here. She's okay. She's safe now…_ He repeated the mantra in his mind a half dozen times before he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he sobbed, touching her arms gently.

"Stop. You've done nothing wrong. I shouldn't have left you here to deal with it alone…whether you thought you were up to it or not," she replied softly, clutching him tighter. Booth twisted in her arms to look at her, belatedly realizing that they were both sitting together on the blood-spattered basement floor.

"I… I read all of it. Every page…" He struggled to form a more coherent thought, but the words eluded him. He was overwhelmed with anger for the people who had hurt her, and he would have liked nothing more than to hunt every last one of them down. Booth couldn't understand for the life of him how no one had seen what was happening to Brennan back then. So many people had either ignored it or overlooked it. He couldn't comprehend the fact that none of them had been able to see how amazing she was.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked, pulling him back into the moment with her soft, loving tone. He met her watery eyes with his own and felt another tear slip down his cheek.

"Just one. What did I do to deserve you?"

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Brennan cleaned Booth's hands to the best of her ability with a first aid kit, but after some careful probing, she insisted that he have his hands x-rayed. Once the adrenaline had left his system, the pain he'd inflicted upon himself hit him full force, and he didn't argue about the trip to the ER. Brennan reviewed his x-rays and agreed with the doctor that he didn't require surgery, but his hands would need to be wrapped tightly for at least a week to avoid further injury. Brennan had been concerned when she'd seen the extent of the bleeding, but Booth had been lucky to end up with only a hairline fracture of the third metacarpal of each hand. The rest of the bones were bruised, and he was in a fair amount of pain, but he did his best to conceal it.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he apologized, his voice laced with guilt. "I lost control."

"Yes, you did. However… I understand _why_ you lost control. If our positions were reversed, I probably would've done the same thing."

Booth wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse, but he was thankful for her compassion. The scenery glided past the passenger window as she drove them home. He gazed down as his heavily wrapped hands and heaved a sigh of regret.

"Cullen's gonna be pissed."

"Well… You didn't shoot anything this time," she pointed out, meeting his eyes with a tiny smile. He gave her a small grin of his own and nodded.

"True, but I won't be doing any shooting for the next few weeks. He'll probably put me on desk duty until I'm healed."

"That wouldn't be the worst thing. I can't leave the lab until I find a replacement for Zack, and none of the people I've interviewed meet my requirements. Plus, we're very busy over the next few weeks with Parker's birthday and with school starting..."

"Yeah, you're right. I just hope he doesn't send me back to Gordon Gordon."

"I thought you liked Dr. Wyatt."

"I do, but I really don't feel like talking about…you know, why I got upset. I just need some time to process. I promise I'll do better, baby."

"Booth, stop blaming yourself. It's not like this is an easy situation."

"I know, but I've gotta get a handle on this, Bones. If we're really going to investigate those deaths, then I'm definitely going to have to look at that file again. I can't lose it every time I see…" He trailed off, feeling slightly short of breath. Brennan placed a warm hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently to reassure him.

"If you have any questions, you can ask me. If I can't remember, then _I'll_ check the file. Alright? It's not like you're doing this alone." She waited for his nod of assent before continuing. "Are you sure you're still okay with looking into it? It's not like it's an open case for us; we don't _have_ to do it."

"I'm sure, Bones. You need answers, and I want you to have them. I want to help you find them."

"Okay," she replied softly. "Thank you."

"There is something I'd like to ask you about, now that I think about it," he said hesitantly. Her voice sounded nervous when she responded.

"Okay…"

"You aged out before you graduated high school. Where did you go after you left the last foster home?" Booth asked. Brennan frowned, knowing that he wouldn't care much for her answer.

"I had enough credits to graduate in December of that year. I stayed in a shelter for a few weeks until I was able to save enough money from my part-time job to rent a room in a boarding house. After I graduated, I was able to work more hours, and when I started at Northwestern, I had a full scholarship that covered room and board."

"You were...homeless," he repeated, as though testing the word on his tongue. It left a foul taste in his mouth. "You ran away a couple of times too. You didn't tell me about that."

"I guess I didn't," she sighed, turning onto their street. "I didn't intentionally leave it out, I just… I don't know. In the context of everything else, the time I spent on the streets seems fairly minor." Booth watched her shrug dismissively and shook his head yet again. He was in awe of her. He'd always known she was strong, but somehow her strength still managed to catch him off guard at times like this.

"I love you, baby. So much." He carefully lifted her hand to his lips, trying to avoid putting pressure on his injured knuckles.

"I love you too, Booth."

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Booth's guilt was compounded by the realization that he wouldn't be able to swim with Parker during his birthday party. Brennan assured him that she would be in the pool with Parker and the other children, but it didn't make Booth feel much better. There were few things he hated more than disappointing his son, but to his surprise, Parker didn't seem overly upset about it. He was thrilled that Brennan would be swimming, and he couldn't wait to show his friends the diving game Brennan had taught him. The game was a simple search for colored marbles on the bottom of the shallow end, but assigning a certain color to each participant made it more challenging.

"I've been working on holding my breath for longer, Bones! I'm _definitely_ gonna win this time," Parker told her excitedly. Brennan smiled back at him and told him to make sure their marbles were ready to go. She was in the process of filling a vegetable tray when the doorbell rang.

"I've got it," Booth shouted from the living room. Rebecca watched the activity from her seat at the breakfast bar.

"Dr. Brennan, are you sure there's nothing I can help you with?"

"Please call me Temperance," Brennan answered politely. "And no, I think everything's ready. We're just waiting on the guests now."

"Hopefully that's the first of them," Rebecca said, tilting her head in the direction of the front door. "I'm not sure how much longer we'll be able to keep Parker out of the pool." Brennan chuckled and nodded, glancing up at the doorway when Booth entered with Hank. She saw Rebecca stiffen in her peripheral, and she hoped the two of them would remember their manners. Hank was no fan of Rebecca, but Brennan had insisted on inviting her. Neither she nor Booth wanted Parker to feel as though his two families couldn't coexist peacefully.

"Hello, Sweetheart," Hank greeted Brennan cheerfully. "Did my fool of a grandson do something to piss you off?"

"Of course not," Brennan replied, frowning in confusion. Hank wheezed a laugh, but Booth looked uncomfortable.

"I only ask because it looks like he's been in a helluva fight, and you look as perfect as always. He wouldn't tell me what happened to his hands," he explained.

"Oh… Well, that may be a conversation for later," she said evasively. The tension in the room was dispelled by another guest at the front door, and Booth retreated once more to greet them. Hank exchanged a stiff nod with Rebecca before heading to the backyard to find Parker.

"He's never liked me much," Rebecca said quietly. Brennan's first instinct was to reply that she was well aware of Hank's distaste for Booth's ex, but she had a feeling that it would be rude to agree with Rebecca in this instance. She was thankful for the arrival of several of Parker's classmates, and she directed them to the backyard.

Although the party went off without a hitch, Booth and Brennan were thoroughly exhausted by the time the last guest had said their farewells. Parker was assembling a set of Legos on the dining room table with Hank, Rebecca had gone home, and Brennan was collecting the far-flung pieces of wrapping paper that littered the back patio. Booth was attempting to help, handling an empty food tray clumsily in his wrapped hands.

"Booth, put that down," Brennan admonished him. "I've got this."

"I want to help. You shouldn't have to clean up all by yourself."

"It'll only take me a few more minutes. Why don't you go help Hank," she suggested. They glanced through the large window to see Hank frowning at the Lego instruction manual. Booth sighed but agreed, planting a light kiss on her lips before heading back inside.

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Booth waited nervously outside of his boss's office the following Monday morning, diligently avoiding the concerned gaze of Cullen's secretary. He knew it was necessary to inform his boss that he'd been injured, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to explaining how that injury had occurred. He couldn't very well tell his boss the details of Brennan's foster care file _or_ the reason he'd been looking at it in the first place.

Booth had given the matter a lot of thought, and he knew that he would be walking a very fine line in regards to running his own investigation into the deaths of his wife's former foster parents. It would have to be done off the books, with little or no help from anyone in his department. Neither Taylor's nor Hammel's death warranted the opening of a federal case at this point, and without some sort of evidence, they never would. At this point, all they had was suspicion, and that wasn't enough to necessitate bringing the situation to Cullen's attention. For now at least, the investigation was strictly between himself and Brennan. They had both agreed to keep it to themselves until and unless they discovered hard evidence.

"You can go in now, Agent Booth." Cullen's secretary pulled him out of his thoughts, and he rose to enter his boss's office.

"Take a seat," Cullen instructed, scowling at Booth's bandaged hands before returning his eyes to his paperwork.

"Sir, I apologize for interrupting your morning unexpectedly. I needed to let you know that I'll be… out of commission for a few weeks," Booth said awkwardly. Cullen still wasn't looking at him, but the grim set of his mouth wasn't doing much to quiet Booth's anxiety.

"And why is that, Agent Booth?"

"I, uh… had an accident."

"An _accident?_ "

"Yes, sir." Booth wasn't sure what else to say, but Cullen looked up from his desk with a raised eyebrow, indicating that he wanted more information. "I got a bit carried away in the gym."

"A punching bag, I assume?" Cullen asked, scrutinizing the agent's hands. Booth nodded. "Care to tell me what it was that pissed you off?"

"No, sir."

"Excuse me?" Cullen challenged.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's a personal matter. I would be betraying someone's confidence."

"Dr. Brennan." It was a statement rather than a question. He knew Booth well enough to be able to draw the correct conclusion.

"Yes, sir."

Cullen sighed and shook his head. He respected both partners, and he'd been very happy to attend their wedding. He had no desire to pry into their affairs, but something was clearly going on. This was the second time in less than a year that Booth had been overcome by his own anger to the point of necessitating some time out of the field. Dr. Wyatt had left his practice and was no longer available to the FBI for psychological purposes, but he wasn't the only shrink at Cullen's disposal.

"Fine," Cullen said after a few moments of thought. "I won't get into it, but someone needs to." Booth pursed his lips with a sense of foreboding. "Since you'll be on desk duty for a few weeks, I also want you to take that time to talk with one of the shrinks. You can see Dr. Sweets; he just started here so his caseload is light."

"What about Dr. Wyatt?"

"He's working in a different field now. Dr. Sweets is on the second floor. You can see his secretary to make an appointment, and I'll let him know the situation." Booth opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for the right words to convince his boss that therapy was unnecessary, but none came to mind. In reality, he'd been expecting this, and he knew there was little he could do but to suffer through it.

"Alright," Booth sighed in resignation. "Thank you, sir."

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"Dr. Sweets? Who's that?" Brennan asked, setting their dinner plates on the dining room table that evening.

"I don't know, some new guy. Probably another old geezer who wants to talk about my military career and my crappy childhood. At least this guy has an office, and I won't be doing odd jobs in his backyard."

Brennan hummed in agreement and sipped her wine, recalling how much trouble her husband had had when it came to opening up to Dr. Wyatt. He eventually did, of course, but Brennan had a feeling that the majority of Booth's progress had taken place at home rather than in 'Gordon Gordon's' backyard.

"So how did your interviews go today?" Booth asked, eager to direct the conversation away from his impending therapy.

"Same as usual."

"Still nobody good enough, huh?"

"No. I think Cam's starting to get irritated about it, but I want to make sure we hire the right person."

Booth nodded, understanding his wife's perspective as well as Cam's. He was trying not to take sides, but Brennan had already interviewed eight or ten people for Zack's job. She'd found an excuse to dismiss each and every one of them. He understood her reluctance, but he also knew that it had more to do with missing Zack than being a picky boss.

Brennan coaxed him into the master bathroom later that evening and began to unwrap the ace bandages from his hands. The skin was still raw and broken in places, but the swelling was almost entirely gone. She nodded in approval and began to remove her clothing, reaching into the shower to turn on the water before pulling Booth's shirt over his head.

Booth quelled the impulse to assure her that he could handle his own shower and admired her body instead. He allowed her to remove his pants and boxers, and she looked up to see a rather dreamy smile on his face.

"You okay?" she asked, laughing at his expression as well as the fact that his eyes were nowhere near her face.

"Mmhmm… My wife is _hot_ ," he grinned.

Brennan chuckled and shook her head at him, grasping his forearms to lead him into the shower. She washed him slowly, avoiding his injured hands. She had to stand on her toes in order to reach his hair, and Booth let out a groan as her breasts pressed against his chest. Brennan smirked as she rinsed the shampoo away and met his lust-darkened eyes. Her fingers stilled in his hair and pulled his head forward, allowing their lips to connect. They quickly lost themselves to the kiss, and only the feeling of Booth's hands on her back brought her back to awareness.

She pulled away, shaking her head to chastise him as she took hold of his forearms again. Brennan guided him to stand with his back against the shower wall and lifted his arms until his hands were level with his head.

"Don't move your arms," she commanded, her voice husky with arousal. Booth's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and his mouth fell open as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Oh God, Bones…" He watched as her lips closed around the tip of his arousal, tonguing and sucking lightly. It was a sight that he would never get enough of, and he moaned deeply when she took his entire length into her mouth. Brennan's eyes never left his as she swallowed around him, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from his lips. He began to lower his hands toward her, and she pulled back immediately.

"Keep your hands up, or I'll stop." Her blue eyes dared him to argue with her, and the spark he saw in her expression made him ache to be inside of her. He did as he was told and returned his hands to their former position.

Brennan's hands stroked him rhythmically and lifted him back to her lips. She kept her eyes on him still, watching his expression tighten and listening to the change in his breathing. She felt him pulsate against her tongue and anticipated his release, taking his full length into her mouth again just as he erupted at the back of her throat. His cry of relief echoed off the bathroom tiles, but he never attempted to move his hands again.

"You take orders very well," she teased him, rising to her feet and kissing him sweetly. Booth was still leaning heavily against the wall and moaned against her lips.

"Never let it be said that I don't listen to you." They shared a laugh and another kiss before he pulled back to look at her, grinning deviously. "Let's go to bed, Bones. There are a few other things I'd like to do that don't require the use of my hands."

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 **So hopefully the smut lightened things up a bit, right? I have no idea when Parker's birthday is, so I figured summer worked out best. As you can see, we'll be meeting Sweets earlier than we did in the canon storyline, and I know the fandom has some mixed feelings about him. My Sweets will be easier to tolerate, I think. He won't be such a whiny, nosy brat, among other things. So hang in there, Sweets haters. He's too big in the series for me to just take him out. This story will go through the end of season 3, and I do plan on a collection of one-shots to serve as a sort of extended epilogue.**

 **As always, _please_ review. Not only will it give me nice things to read while I'm recovering this week, but I really do want to know your thoughts. Feedback makes the hard work worth it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all of the reviews, feedback, and well-wishes! They are greatly appreciated! This chapter is another longer one, but don't get too spoiled, okay? When I'm writing, once I get to 5K, I just look for a good cut-off place. So most chapters will be under 7K.**

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Chapter 2

Booth delayed his first appointment with Dr. Sweets for as long as possible. He spent his working hours catching up on paperwork and running the Major Crimes division, and his evenings were spent with his wife. They had decided to start at the top of her list of former foster parents and check into the current whereabouts on each. It was bound to be a lengthy process due to the fact that Booth couldn't call upon his staff to help. The research would have to be completely off the books.

Brennan was eager to help, of course, but he'd been having a difficult time getting her out of the lab. She claimed that she needed to be there until she could find a suitable replacement for Zack, and Booth had found himself pulling her off the platform at mealtimes on more than one occasion. They'd had one email from Zack since he'd left for Iraq, but his location apparently made communication difficult. Booth knew that Brennan was worried, so the fact that she was throwing herself into her work came as no surprise to him. He greatly hoped that she would be able to settle upon a new assistant sometime soon.

Booth rescheduled his appointment with Dr. Sweets twice, but on the third attempt the man's secretary had warned him that Sweets would most likely show up at Booth's office if he canceled again. So, with grumbling reluctance, he presented himself for the appointment. When he got his first look at Dr. Lance Sweets, Booth laughed out loud in surprise.

He'd been expecting another Gordon Gordon type, but Dr. Sweets was the polar opposite. He looked like a teenager fresh out of summer camp, and Booth wondered if the kid had even started shaving.

"You've got to be kidding me," Booth chuckled.

"Agent Booth, I'm Dr. Lance Sweets. You can have a seat."

" _You're_ the shrink."

"I'm an FBI psychologist, yes. It's nice to meet you...finally."

"Yeah, look, some things came up, okay? I have all sorts of grown-up responsibilities-"

"Agent Booth, I'm aware that I look younger than I am, but there's no need to patronize me. You're here because Deputy Director Cullen wants you evaluated for your anger management issues."

"I manage my anger just fine, kid. I've been through this before." Booth was practically growling, and Sweets swallowed convulsively before pressing forward.

"Yes, with Dr. Wyatt," Sweets nodded, flipping through Booth's file to find Wyatt's previous assessments. "Last time you were triggered by the accidental death of a serial killer you were pursuing and ended up discharging your firearm at a clown?" He read the last word with a note of incredulity, and Booth rushed to defend himself.

"A clown _speaker_ on top of an ice cream truck. It was playing ridiculously loud music, and I was on the phone trying to talk to someone about a new case."

"I see," Sweets replied, making a note in the file to clarify the ambiguity. "You continued to see Dr. Wyatt for several weeks following your reinstatement. Why did you stop?"

"Because I got better. I talked to him a couple of times after that when I wanted his input on something, but I didn't need regular therapy. I still don't."

"What happened to your hands?"

Booth glared at him, thoroughly frustrated with his boss in that moment. Did Cullen really think that he was going to open up to this quack who was sweating bullets and looked like he was twelve years old? _Yeah, right._

"I had an accident. I'll be all healed up in a couple weeks, and everything will be just fine."

"I have no doubt that your hands will heal, but you won't be going back into the field until we've talked about how they got hurt in the first place." Booth rolled his eyes, and Sweets continued, "Deputy Director Cullen mentioned that it had something to do with your partner? Dr. Brennan?"

"No, it had to do with my _wife_ , Dr. Brennan. Meaning that it was a personal issue and not at all related to my ability to perform my job."

"You're married to your partner?" Sweets asked, checking the file to see if he'd somehow overlooked that information.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I wasn't informed of that," he said distractedly as he scanned Wyatt's notes. There was mention of Dr. Brennan and of Agent Booth's protective behavior toward her, but Wyatt had only referenced a 'personal relationship.' He hadn't clarified that it was in fact a _romantic_ relationship. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. What was it that angered you?"

"It's none of your business," Booth replied brusquely. "It's a family thing; it's got nothing to do with my job. I didn't shoot anything, I didn't harm anyone-"

"You harmed yourself."

"Not on purpose. And trust me, if you knew my reasons, you'd understand."

"I'd like to understand. You don't have to give me a lot of detail-"

"No." Booth's tone was firm, and his serious expression didn't change as the cell phone in his pocket began to ring. He ignored Sweets' request that he not answer the call. "Booth. ...Sure, I'll see you there." He snapped his phone shut and gave Sweets a strained version of his charm smile. "Looks like I've got somewhere to be. I'll see you later."

"Agent Booth-"

But the agent was already out the door, waving a quick goodbye to Sweets' secretary as he headed toward the elevator.

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Brennan was waiting for him at their usual table at the Royal Diner. She'd ordered for him, but the food hadn't come out yet. He thanked her as he sipped his coffee.

"How'd it go?" she asked. Booth snorted.

"He's a damn _kid_. Looks like he should be tuxedo shopping for the prom."

"I thought you said he was a psychologist."

"Supposedly he is. I don't know what the hell Cullen's playing at, sending me to a damn twelve-year-old to talk about my 'anger issues.'" His fingers mockingly sketched quotation marks around the air, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"You can't do fieldwork until he clears you? Like last time?"

"I don't know. Cullen didn't specifically say that. Just that he wanted me to talk to one of the Bureau's shrinks." Booth frowned, realizing that he was going to have to come up with something to tell the kid in order to get him off his back.

"Well… I know you don't enjoy talking about personal issues with strangers, but in this case, you'll probably have to cooperate," Brennan said hesitantly. Their waitress appeared and placed their meals on the table in front of them.

"I'm not giving some adolescent kid all the ugly details of your past, Bones. It's none of his _or_ the Bureau's business."

"I didn't mean that you had to tell him everything," she pointed out. "Just tell him enough to satisfy his curiosity, and leave it at that." Booth sighed and took a large bite of his cheeseburger, silently thanking God for comfort food.

"I'll figure it out. Let's not talk about it anymore, alright?" he pled. Brennan gazed at him thoughtfully and nodded before changing the subject obligingly.

"Does Parker still want us to take him to school on the first day?"

"Yeah, it's next Monday. Rebecca said she's got an early meeting anyway, but she would've canceled if Parker had asked her to come too. He said he's fine with it being just you and me though."

Brennan smiled and took another bite of her salad. She'd picked Parker up from school a number of times, but she'd never dropped him off in the morning. Booth had explained that the first day of school was a big deal with Parker. There would be lots of picture-taking, meeting his first grade teacher, and so on. She was looking forward to the experience.

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Parker stayed with them that weekend, and the three of them headed to his school first thing Monday morning. The building was noisy with the comings and goings of other children and their parents, and the hallways were chaotic. They made their way to the first grade area of the building and quickly located Parker's locker outside of his classroom. Booth snapped a few pictures of Parker standing in front of his locker and again in front of the doorway to his classroom.

His teacher, Mrs. Owen, was a pleasant young woman who greeted them warmly. She showed Parker what to do each morning when he arrived and pointed him to a desk that was labeled with his name. Brennan helped him sort out his school supplies while Parker chattered about his favorite lunch foods and what he'd done over the summer.

"...And this is my stepmom. My dad calls her Bones, so I do too. Cause she works with bones. She's a _genius_. She knows _everything_." Mrs. Owen smiled indulgently at Parker before drifting off to welcome another student, and Brennan felt her eyes stinging. She and Booth hugged Parker goodbye and left the classroom.

"You okay, Bones?"

"Yes. It's just… That was the first time he's called me his stepmom." She gave him a watery smile, and he slipped an arm around her waist, still cautious of his healing hand.

"He loves you, Bones. Almost as much as I do," he winked. She laughed and leaned in to kiss him lightly.

"I know. I love him too."

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Booth glared irritably at Dr. Sweets and was slightly vindicated by the sight of the young man shrinking inward. His hands were now healed, with the exception of a slight residual ache in his knuckles, and he was finally free of the cumbersome ace bandages. He had already returned to field duty, but after three sessions' worth of dodging Sweets' probing questions, Booth was more than ready to be rid of him.

"Agent Booth, you've got to give me _some_ thing to put in my report that will justify releasing you from therapy. Because right now all I can say is that you're uncooperative, and that won't go over well with Deputy Director Cullen."

"I've told you repeatedly, Sweets. It's _private_."

"And I can appreciate that, but I assure you that doctor-patient confidentiality will protect your personal affairs. I don't have to report on the specific details. I can just say that you discussed the incident and the trigger with me. The higher-ups simply want due diligence; that's all."

Booth regarded him warily for a few moments before heaving a sigh of frustration. _The kid's right_ , he fumed inwardly. He'd given some thought to which vague details he might be able to reveal, but he'd have much rather avoided the whole thing altogether. He wouldn't want some peach-fuzzed kid to know the sordid details of _his_ childhood, and he greatly wanted to protect his wife's privacy.

"Fine," Booth spat. Sweets' brows lifted in surprise.

"Okay. So...what made you angry enough to injure yourself on a punching bag?"

"I came across some information regarding my wife's childhood."

Sweets sat up a bit straighter and tried to mask his surprise. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. He hadn't met Dr. Brennan yet, but in the weeks since his first encounter with Agent Booth, Sweets had asked around about them. The partners had the highest solve rate in the Bureau, which was the primary reason they'd been allowed to remain partners even after entering into a romantic relationship. Sweets had his reservations about the advisability of the arrangement, but Cullen had made it quite clear that Booth's partnership with Dr. Brennan was to be safeguarded.

"I take it this information you 'came across' was disturbing?" Sweets asked. Booth glowered at him again. "Sorry. What I meant to say was… Why did the information make you angry?"

"It…" Booth faltered as the images flooded his mind the way they'd been tormenting his dreams. After reading the file, he'd had nearly a week of sleepless nights. His wife had eventually forced a sleeping pill upon him. "It was the sort of thing no one wants to happen to their loved ones."

"And you were angry on her behalf."

"Yes."

"To the point that you basically blacked out while hitting a punching bag."

"Yes," Booth growled.

"What finally stopped you?"

"She did." His tone was thick with suppressed emotion.

"Her voice?"

"I don't… I don't know. I felt her arms around my waist. I'm not sure if she was speaking before that."

"And then?" he pressed. Booth rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

"And then she cleaned up the mess and drove me to the emergency room."

"That must have been frightening for her."

"What?" Booth leaned forward again, successfully intimidating Sweets once more.

"To see you in that state. It must have scared her."

"Bones is tough. She was worried, but...she didn't look scared." Booth frowned, trying to recall the exact expression on Brennan's face when she'd found him. _Had_ she been afraid? Of him? The idea troubled him now, and for a moment he forgot that Sweets was in the room. The younger man studied Booth's features quietly, seeing the shadows of fear and anxiety in his expression.

"What could you have done differently?" Sweets asked, pulling Booth back into the present.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… What could you have done to deal with your anger rather than letting loose on a punching bag until you injured yourself?"

Booth sighed again, disgusted and wanting nothing more than to leave the kid's office that very minute. He forced himself to remain seated, however, and tried to come up with a suitable answer. He should've taken her up on her offer to stay with him while he read the file. He'd been trying to protect her from having to look at it again, from seeing how the information would affect him. He'd known that it would make him angry, but in this case, being forewarned had not forearmed him.

"Usually if I get angry, I count in my head. Breathe through it, that sort of thing. I should've tried harder to do that, but I couldn't focus."

"Do the counting and breathing exercises generally work for you?"

"Yes."

Sweets pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was obvious that this mess went much deeper than a black-out round with a punching bag, but they were missing the key element. _Dr. Brennan_.

"Agent Booth, I think we can end it here for today. I have enough for my report in regards to your outburst and subsequent injury." Sweets signed his name to the bottom of Booth's release form and handed it to him. Booth looked pleasantly surprised but confused as well.

"Uh… Thanks. That's it?"

"That's it. I'll let Deputy Director Cullen know that you've fulfilled your anger management requirement. Obviously, if there is another incident, you may be required to see me again, but-"

"No, that won't be necessary, Sweets," Booth interrupted him, standing abruptly and shaking his hand. "Thanks. Take care."

Booth was out the door before Sweets could say another word, and for a moment he considered following him to finish his earlier thought. He had been about to warn Booth that he might need to speak with the two partners together at some point, but Sweets had a feeling that Booth wouldn't be happy to hear that. He decided to save that conversation for another day and sat down to write his report for Cullen.

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"What killed him?"

"The sternal ribs were subluxated...at both the spine and the sternum."

Booth cleared the security sensor and mounted the platform steps, hoping that Brennan's eighteenth interview for Zack's replacement was nearing an end. He'd been called to the type of crime scene that definitely required her expertise, and he knew she would probably argue about coming with him. Brennan had been out to a handful of crime scenes with him since Zack had left for Iraq, but dragging her out of the lab was no easy task. He listened passively as Cam questioned a young man in a lab coat about the cause of death for the skeletal remains currently occupying the exam table. Brennan asked the newcomer to clarify his statement as Booth sidled up to Cam.

"This the guy Bones is checking out to replace Zack?" Cam nodded and smiled politely at the young man.

"Clark Edison, meet Special Agent Seeley Booth."

"Hey, what's up," Clark greeted him. " _Bones?_ Hey, that's funny. That's what all my friends called me back in college." His smile was warm and pleasant, but Brennan seemed unaffected by his attempt at bonding.

"Yeah, I like him," Booth announced before turning to his wife. "You got a minute?" Brennan nodded and followed him from the platform.

"Crime scene?"

"Yup, I've got your field kit in the SUV, all ready to go. I really need you on this one."

Brennan gave him a guilty smile and went to her office to exchange her lab coat for her jacket. She knew, subconsciously at the very least, that she was being overly sentimental about selecting Zack's replacement. She instead passed her sensitivity off as extreme caution, claiming that she wanted to find the best person for the job. Unfortunately, the best person for the job was thousands of miles away at the moment.

Booth escorted her from the lab with the customary hand to her lower back, wondering why she'd agreed to come with him so easily. It wasn't until they actually reached the scene that she began to question him. Brennan glanced around the area, which was teeming with police officers and rescue workers.

"Why am I here?" she wondered aloud. Booth frowned, feeling slightly petulant. He'd been missing his wife lately. Although they still spent plenty of time together outside of work, their partnership had become a focal point in his life. He knew she was having difficulty with Zack's absence, and he'd come to the uncomfortable conclusion that his wife was going to need a bit of a push in order to change the status quo. Booth had let her do it her way for as long as possible, but he knew it was time to speak up now.

"You know, you used to _like_ to come out into the field with me."

"I still do, Booth. I just don't see any of the obvious indications of a crime scene that requires my presence. Not yet, anyway. No car fires, no tanker barrels full of acid, no explosions…" They wove their way through the maze of emergency vehicles and past an eighteen-wheeler lying on its side.

"Trust me, Bones, this is your kind of crime scene. That kid you were interviewing seemed pretty good with the sublixcated sternacallum thing…"

"Subluxated sternum," she corrected him reflexively, her lips curving upward as she slipped her hands into a pair of gloves. Booth smiled at the welcome familiarity and pointed in the direction of a vehicle with a shattered windshield. At first glance there didn't seem to be anything unusual about it, but closer examination of the windshield from inside the car revealed a human skull lodged in the broken glass. Brennan settled herself carefully on the front passenger seat and eyed the skull with interest. "Male. Caucasian. Late teens, early twenties. Completely devoid of flesh and odor," she announced. "How did this skull get here?"

"Let's ask our eyewitness. Come on!" Booth said eagerly, shoving his note cards back in his pocket and leading her toward a group of people standing on the side of the road. The eyewitness turned out to be a panicky young man whom Booth pulled away from a local cop. "Let's go, buddy…"

"I am not high!" the teen insisted. Brennan frowned in confusion.

"Neither am I. Why is he telling me that?" she asked, glancing at Booth.

"Yeah, the car reeked of dope," Booth explained quickly. "So, tell her what happened…"

"I was driving behind a dump truck, and _that_ came flying off the back." He pointed at the skull, looking increasingly anxious.

"Do you think the rest of the skeleton is still on the truck?" Brennan asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"It didn't come flying _out_ ; it came flying _off._ It bounced."

"Oh, bouncing skull!" Booth said with mock excitement. Brennan bit back a smile and addressed the witness.

"Perhaps you _thought_ that because you were under the influence of tetrahydrocannabinol?"

"What?" The young man was flummoxed.

"Weed," Booth translated proudly.

"I wasn't high! I'm the designated driver, alright?!"

The teen offered to submit to a urine test, but Brennan was already tuning him out. She began to postulate aloud on the circumstances that might have caused a skull to bounce off of a dump truck, but Booth interrupted her, pointing at the overpass behind her.

"Why would anyone throw a skull off an overpass?" she asked. Booth had no answer for that, and by the time they had finished processing the scene and were ready to go home, it was nearly midnight.

"Thanks for coming out with me, Bones. I've missed that."

"I have too, Booth. I'm sorry. The fieldwork is still important to me too, it's just been harder to get out of the lab lately."

"I understand," he assured her. "I really do. I think it's time to hire someone though, Bones. You're not going to find another Zack, but surely one of the people you interviewed can do a decent job. Whoever you get will have to be trained on how you do things, so figure out which of them is the most promising, and go from there."

"I know," Brennan sighed. "I'm being silly."

"No, you're not, Bones. It's important, and I get why you've delayed things. But I think it's time to move on." Brennan nodded, pursing her lips as she stared at the passing landscape.

Booth watched her surreptitiously as he drove. He truly did understand, probably more than Brennan realized. He knew that she was compartmentalizing her feelings for Zack as well as the discoveries they'd made in Chicago. She needed a way to feel in control of things, and her lab offered a perfect environment for that. It was how she coped, and although Booth had tried to leave her to it for as long as possible, he was starting to worry that she might never get back out of the lab unless he gave her a little push.

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Booth smiled at his wife's caller ID picture and answered his cell in the usual manner. He bit off a small portion of the hot dog he'd just purchased as he returned to his SUV, listening to her recite her initial findings on the skull they'd recovered the night before.

"There's scoring on the skull."

"Scoring?"

"Yes, scrapes."

"Yeah, I know what scoring means," he chuckled, taking another bite of his lunch.

"The scraping is uniform in spacing but not depth, which suggests an ungual pattern," she elaborated. The unfamiliar term made him frown.

"What's an uncle pattern?"

"No, _ungual_. With a _g._ " He could hear her asking someone else how to explain it in layman's terms, and Cam joined the conversation a half second later.

"Something chewed on the skull, Booth."

"Oh. Like a bear or a dog?"

"Human, Booth. Dr. Brennan is saying human." He paused in the act of climbing into the SUV.

"In the vernacular, our victim's face was chewed off by a cannibal," Brennan explained. Booth glanced down at the food at his hand for a brief second before tossing it into a trash can on the sidewalk.

"Great," he replied with weak sarcasm. "Look, I'll stop by later to touch base, okay? I'm meeting with Caroline in a little while, and I've got Charlie tracking down that dump truck."

They said their goodbyes, and Booth made his way back to the Hoover. Charlie had determined that the driver of the dump truck was the same person who called in the accident when he'd seen it in his rearview mirror. The trucker had then taken his load to a municipal landfill. Caroline agreed to get a warrant to shut down the landfill temporarily so that it could be searched for body parts. By early evening, the FBI forensics team had delivered a fair number of bone shards to the Jeffersonian, and Booth arrived to find Brennan on the platform once again with Clark Edison.

"Bones, I brought dinner," he greeted her, lifting the takeout bag in his hand to show her. She glanced at him and nodded before continuing her study of one of the bone shards.

"Okay, I'll be right there."

"We get anything human?"

"Not yet, but I'll have to go through them and see."

"Well, I could do that, Dr. Brennan," Clark suggested.

"Yeah, Clark could do that," Booth agreed eagerly. "Come on, I'm setting up in your office." Brennan followed him after another few minutes and found him on her couch, digging into a carton of mee krob.

"Hey, save some for me. You always take it all." She jabbed him playfully with her elbow.

"Do not."

"Do too." Brennan smiled as he handed her the container and gave him a quick kiss of thanks.

"So do you guys have any progress on an ID?"

"Some. The victim had an osteoma, which is a bone spur that grows from the skull down to the sinus cavity. It was large enough that it would've caused headaches or sinus problems, so we're going through medical records from local ENTs to find a match."

"Angela can't just do a reconstruction and search the usual way?"

"She could, but we have no time of death yet. She wouldn't have any parameters to use as filters for the search. This way should be faster. She's been a little distracted today anyway."

"Why's that?"

"She and Hodgins met with a private investigator about her...husband. To track him down."

"Ah. Any progress yet?" They swapped food cartons again, and she shook her head.

"No, but that's to be expected. She doesn't remember his name or anything about him. Just that he was tall and black."

"Well, didn't he sign his name on the marriage certificate? I'm sure that can be tracked down; the State Department didn't have any trouble finding it."

"He signed with an X." Booth faltered, chewing more slowly for a moment as he met her gaze.

"Wow."

"Yeah. Don't say anything to her though. She seems a bit sensitive about it," she said quietly. Booth was slightly taken aback at her words. Brennan wasn't typically one for advising others on how to avoid offending people.

"Of course not, Bones. I wouldn't say anything. I don't blame her for being that way; we've all done things we regret." Brennan smiled and kissed him again.

"Thanks for bringing dinner."

"Of course. Making sure you eat is practically a second job lately," he teased her.

"And you do it so well," she grinned, standing up to help him clear away their mess.

"I've got this. You can go. I'll hang around for a while. Think you'll be done soon?"

"Yes, I just want to finish the batch of shards I was analyzing. I can keep working through the rest of them tomorrow." They shared a long kiss, losing themselves in the moment. When at last they pulled apart, Brennan was left wondering why she'd been returning to the platform rather than insisting he take her home immediately. Booth smirked knowingly.

"Go. I'll be here." He watched her leave and cleaned up the mess of food containers before going to find Cam. She was at her desk in front of a sizeable stack of paperwork, and Booth winced sympathetically.

"What can I do for you, Seeley?"

"You could start by not calling me that, _Camille_." She smiled and waited for him to continue. "I wanted to see how the search for Zack's replacement is going. I've talked to Bones about it a few times, but…"

"I don't know. I'd hire Clark, but it's not my call."

"Of course it is. You're the boss. Just hire the guy."

"He would be _her_ assistant. And sure, I'm the boss, but you and I both know whose word carries more weight around here. I've made my peace with that, and I've encouraged her to make a selection, but there's only so far I can push her." Booth sighed and gave a nod of agreement. Clearly any hope he'd had for intervention from Cam had been wasted.

Brennan rejoined Clark on the platform, and the two worked in silence to sift through the pieces of bone that had been recovered from the landfill. Most were from animal remains, and some of the shards weren't bones at all but rather pieces of pottery or plastic. Brennan pursed her lips in distaste for the FBI forensic team.

"We've got a match on the x-ray," Angela announced, swiping her way onto the platform. She crossed to one of the computer terminals and pulled up the x-ray of the skull. Brennan texted Booth to join them, and he appeared moments later with Cam at his heels. Angela handed him a missing persons file.

"This is the skull from the windshield," Brennan told them. She then pointed to another image of a skull and said, "These are x-rays from an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist on M Street." Angela laid the images over one another and rotated them until they lined up perfectly.

"Gavin Nichols?" Booth asked, reading the file in his hands. "We're sure this is him?"

"Well, the osteoma is a perfect match. It's him," Cam assured him.

"Prodigy violinist disappears, and a month later, his skull winds up bouncing off a garbage truck."

"Obviously we are looking for someone who really, really hates classical music," Cam said dryly.

"Look at this. Final performance was at the Library of Congress." He handed Brennan a photograph out of the file. "He met with well-wishers, arranged to meet with his girlfriend for drinks at the Hay-Adams, never showed, and nobody ever saw him again."

"And a violin worth three million dollars," Brennan added, skimming the top sheet of the report. Cam's brows lifted incredulously.

"A twenty-two-year-old willowy kid, walking around with three million bucks under his arm?"

"Hey, I'm telling you...easy pickings," Booth said. Brennan wasn't convinced.

"A cannibalistic violin thief who eats faces?"

"Yeah… It's a stretch," Booth admitted. "We can talk to the girlfriend tomorrow. It's getting late, Bones." Brennan nodded and gave the large pile of bone shards a rueful glance before following her husband off the platform.

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Brennan insisted on returning to the lab the following morning rather than accompanying Booth to interview the victim's girlfriend. Booth refrained from pushing her about it, but he failed to keep his disappointment from his expression as they got dressed for work. Brennan watched guiltily as his face fell, and she stepped behind him to wrap her arms around his waist.

"If you get any leads about the crime scene, let me know. I'll come with you to check it out," she promised. Booth turned in her arms and pulled her against his still-bare chest, pressing his lips into her soft brown hair.

"Thanks, Bones."

Booth released her so that they could finish getting ready for work, inwardly chastising himself for making her feel badly. It wasn't that he was feeling needy or neglected; he was simply worried about her. Booth could read his wife better than he could read anyone. He knew when she was upset, stressed, frustrated, distracted, happy, aroused… But he couldn't read her if they were apart, and she had a bad habit of downplaying the things that bothered her.

In the weeks since he'd read her foster care file and begun a sideline investigation, they'd only spoken about the matter a handful of times. He'd been able to determine that her first foster parents, the Andersons, had both been killed in a car accident in the late nineties. They had reviewed the police report together and agreed that there was nothing suspicious about the accident. Booth was still in the process of tracking down the second set of foster parents. The Carters had subjected Brennan to severe neglect, and Booth wondered if Max knew about that...or about any of the other nightmares in that file.

Brennan seemed content to let Booth handle tracking down the information in his free time, and unless he brought it up, she wasn't interested in discussing it. It also hadn't escaped Booth's notice that Brennan hadn't visited Max in prison since before the wedding. He certainly couldn't blame her for feeling unsure of her footing as far as her relationship with Max was concerned. She and Booth had briefly discussed the possibility of a private visiting room a while back, and Booth decided that he would talk to Caroline at some point and see about getting that set up. It might help Brennan feel slightly more comfortable seeing him again.

They drove themselves to work that morning after promising to keep each other updated on the progress of the case. Booth's interview with the victim's girlfriend didn't lead him to a crime scene, but the young woman did point him in the direction of another suspect. Gavin Nichols had apparently been having an affair with the wife of the Deputy Director of the Secret Service.

Considering the man's position, Caroline joined Booth to talk to Leo and Rona Sumner. The interview was a dead end, however, as it quickly became obvious that the couple had played no part in Gavin Nichols' death. Rona had indeed been sleeping with him, but Leo had known about it the entire time, effectively eliminating the _jealous husband_ angle Booth was pursuing. They proved it with a video recording captured by Leo from inside a closet as his wife was having sex with Gavin.

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Shortly after concluding the second interview, Booth got an email from Hodgins regarding particulates he had recovered from the victim's skull. It was pink syenite that had been quarried in British Columbia, and there were very few recorded shipments to DC. Hodgins had sent a short list of locations, and Booth attempted to narrow them down, deducing the most logical place to start before heading to the lab to pick up Brennan. Cam fell into step with him as he passed her office.

"Where's Bones?"

"You arrested the Deputy Director of the Secret Service for voyeurism?"

"Yeah. Bones in her office?"

"That is awesome and really, really stupid. You've got to love a self-destructive man with values."

"Where's Bones?" he asked again.

"Right behind you," Brennan answered. Booth turned on his heel and smiled at the sight of her.

"Oh, great. Look, I checked into all those places with the red rock-"

"Pink syenite," she corrected automatically. Booth plowed ahead.

"There's only one place that uses the pink rock in its foundations. It's an old, deserted bank on the Anacostia River."

"Bingo, baby," Cam said approvingly. A tiny crease of confusion appeared on Brennan's forehead.

"Why 'Bingo, baby?'"

"I checked into the ownership of the place…"

" _Why_ 'Bingo baby?'" Brennan repeated, encouraging him to continue.

"Shell companies owning defective titles and so on?" Cam guessed.

"I don't get the significance."

"It's deserted, isolated," Booth explained. "It's a fortress."

"Serial killer heaven," Cam translated.

"And you want to check it out?" Brennan surmised. Booth grinned at her eagerly.

"You said you'd come if we got a lead on a crime scene," he reminded her. She smiled back and nodded.

"I'll get my bag."

Capital Mutual Bank was a stately-looking building with a cavernous interior. The architecture was impressive, and Brennan admired it with interest it as they were led across the main level by a security guard. His voice echoed throughout the large, empty room.

"Bank's been closed for years. Door's always locked. Never a light… Nothing."

"No squatters?" Booth asked. The guard shook his head dismissively.

"They made them sturdy back in the day. I mean, look at this place."

"It is," Brennan agreed. The place was immaculate. "No dust, nothing."

"DC Building Conservancy is fighting to keep the place as a historical site. Maybe if you told me what you were looking for, I could help you out," the man offered.

"Ah, you know… Blood stains, butcher instruments…" Brennan stifled the urge to roll her eyes toward the decorative metal ceiling tiles and held a hand up to stop him.

"Any place where human remains would've come into contact with granite."

"You're not gonna find nothing like that up here," the guard replied, shaking his head again.

"Up here?" the partners echoed in unison. The guard motioned them onward and led them down a granite staircase into a subterranean level. They came to a stop in front of a massive vault door.

"Old vault. Cut right into the foundation of the place."

"Hermetically sealed… Insect proof… Constant humidity… It's ideal," Brennan announced.

"Yeah, well, we've got to get inside," Booth said.

"Heh, you want me to kick down the door?" the guard chuckled.

Booth pursed his lips and fished his cell phone from his pocket. It took the FBI techs nearly an hour to open the massive door, and when it finally swung open, Booth and Brennan entered the vault alone. He stepped ahead of her, his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, and she followed him with a flashlight of her own. The vault seemed to be made up of several smaller sections, each partitioned with metal bars that reminded Brennan of prison cells. Booth pushed one of the gates open, and his attention was immediately caught by a beeping sound. His eyes snapped upward to see a blinking red light, and he immediately assumed the worst.

"Get down!" he shouted, tackling Brennan to the ground and covering her body with his own. He braced himself for an explosion, but none came. Instead, he was surprised by the touch of Brennan's lips against his, soft but commanding.

"Why were your eyes closed?" she asked, chuckling breathlessly.

"I thought we were going to get blown up," he said sheepishly, belatedly registering the feeling of her body beneath him. He felt himself harden and couldn't resist the urge to push his hips forward slightly. "Not exactly the kind of explosion I was expecting, but I like this one better."

"That's an odd place to keep your firearm, Agent Booth."

"That's not my gun, baby," he flirted back. She kissed him again but then shook her head.

"We should get up."

"Oh, come on. How often do we get this kind of opportunity while we're working?" he smirked. Brennan laughed at his implication.

"Well, let's see, we've had sex in my office, your SUV, Bone Storage, various supply closets-" He cut her off with another steamy kiss that nearly convinced her to add 'deserted bank vault and possible crime scene' to their list.

"Yeah, okay, I get it." He grinned and lifted himself off of her, pulling her to her feet. She aimed her flashlight toward the blinking red light that had alarmed him.

"It's just a transmitter."

"Well, now whoever owns this place knows we're here," he replied, proceeding cautiously through the vault once more. "Now, be careful. We don't know what else is in here."

"There's a phrase in ancient Greek burned on the back of the vault door."

"Well, what's it say?"

"I don't know; it's in ancient Greek." Her voice implied that he'd asked a rather stupid question, but Booth merely smiled. He'd become so accustomed to his wife 'knowing everything,' as his son liked to proclaim, that he'd temporarily forgotten which languages she knew.

The vault was filled with an odd assortment of items, and Brennan catalogued them aloud as they continued to investigate.

"Dead languages. Egyptian art. Pythagorean mathematics…" She paused, shining her flashlight into the darkness. "Hebrew scriptures, gnosticism, Kabala, alchemy, druidism, astrology… Angela can tell us for sure, but I think these artifacts are museum quality." Her light fell upon a familiar object. "Whoa. Bingo, baby. I found Gavin Nichols' violin."

"Bones!" His voice came to her from another part of the vault, and she followed it curiously. When reached him, her intuition prickled at the sight of his frozen form.

"What, Booth? What did you find?"

"I… I don't know." She traced the path of his gaze to where the beam of his flashlight was focused. On the far wall stood a massive circular shield, as large as the vault door they had passed through a short while ago. Curved oddly against one side of the shield was a skeleton, but it looked like nothing Booth had ever seen on Brennan's exam tables. The bones gleamed back at him in the light. "What is it? ...Silver?"

Brennan crossed the room and studied the skeleton at a closer proximity. The arms of the skeleton were raised upward, and mouth of the silver skull hung open slightly as if crying out in despair. The image was chilling.

"Not all of these bones are silver," she noted. "It's possible we just found more of Gavin Nichols."

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 **So we're off and running with our first case of season 3. Hopefully my Sweets is different enough to not be annoying while still being in character. I tried to write him as the older, more mature Sweets we grew to love later in the series. And don't we wish they'd done some making out on the floor of that vault? ;)**

 **Chapter 3 will be posted on Saturday!**

 **Reviews make me happy!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm alive! Thank you for all of the prayers and happy thoughts in regards to my recovery. My surgery went great, and I'm slowly on the mend. So far the worst I've had to deal with is residual pain and ongoing nausea. The posting schedule will still be Wednesdays and Saturdays, and I'm hoping to start writing again next week.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Chapter 3

Booth called Caroline to the scene while Brennan called the rest of the team at the Jeffersonian. Everyone met in the bank vault to get a firsthand look at its contents. They convened a short time later in front of the silver skeleton.

"That's Gavin's violin," Caroline agreed. "What else have you got?" Hodgins spoke up first.

"This altar is made of the same pink syenite we found embedded in Gavin Nichols' skull."

"Where's the rest of him?"

"Probably tossed into dump trucks from overpasses," Booth guessed.

"All of the bones found here show teeth marks," Brennan added, gesturing to the human bones she had removed from the skeleton. Their silver counterparts were still mounted to the shield.

"Somebody kidnapped a fiddler and served him for dinner in an old bank vault stuffed with museum pieces?" Caroline asked, sounding as though she was expecting a punchline to come next. Angela was looking at the shield in disgust.

"I think this is high medieval. Spanish, possibly Calabrian in origin," she explained, indicating the way the skeleton was posed. Hodgins pounced on the information.

"Oh ho, whoa. _Twelfth century Calabrian?_ You know what this means?" His question was met with a room full of blank stares. "The Order of Alcantara? You people have no idea of the reach of the Illuminati, do you? I'll tell you what else… This bank vault is an original vortex point on the triangular grid, designed by the infamous architect of DC, Pierre Charles L'Enfant. Not to mention, the way the skeleton is displayed absolutely suggests-"

"Okay, okay, we get it," Caroline interrupted, rolling her eyes along with the rest of them. "This is the lair of a cannibalistic secret society."

"Hey, you know what? If you don't want my answers, don't ask me questions."

"Someone is replacing the silver bones in the sculpture with human bones," Brennan told them, bringing the conversation into less controversial territory. "There's no way this manubrium and this sternum came from the same person."

"We've got a _multiple_ murder?" Caroline asked, sounding more intrigued than horrified. Angela wondered aloud if she was pleased, and Caroline replied, "Hell, you could go your whole career without catching something this...juicy. Who had access to the building?"

The Building Conservancy," Booth answered.

"Run those people," Caroline instructed him. "Look for priors. Childhood cat-skinning, things like that."

"I'd like permission to move the contents of this room to the Jeffersonian," Brennan said, looking to Cam for approval. Booth's eyes narrowed.

"It's a bank vault," he reminded her, wondering if he had missed something. _Surely it's secure enough, right?_

"There's room in the basement," Cam shrugged. Caroline was on board as well.

"I think this may be one of those 'bring the mountain to Mohammed' situations."

Brennan smiled proudly across the room at him with a self-satisfied tilt of her head, and Booth responded with an indulgent grin. She'd gotten her way.

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"It was nice to be in the field with you today," Booth told her as they settled into bed that evening. She gave him a contrite little smile.

"I'm sorry I've been stubborn about it lately. I didn't realize I was doing it until you said something the other day."

"It's okay, baby." He opened his arms for her, and she snuggled into him. "Convincing me to take you out in the field may be the best thing you've ever done for yourself. It opened you up, Bones, and you need to get back out there."

"I know. I'll try, but it's hard for me to basically abandon my responsibilities at the lab. When Zack was there, I knew I could trust him to handle things while I was gone. It's going to take some time to trust someone new."

"Yeah, I can understand that," he admitted. "I just really think our partnership is more effective when we're together. Plus, like I said, I really miss you out there. Being a sexy genius…" _kiss_ "Bossing me around…" _kiss_.

"Hmmm," she sighed happily. "As much as you like to complain about my authoritarian tendencies, you didn't seem to have an issue being bossed around in the shower a while back."

"Fair point," he grinned. "You've gotta admit though…" _kiss_ "You don't mind being bossed around sometimes either." She met his gaze with a flirtatious smile, pointedly refusing the opportunity to object to his statement. Booth kissed her more deeply this time, slipping his tongue into her mouth and raising both of her arms above her head. "Keep your hands up," he instructed her, playing on the memory of her dominance when his hands had been injured.

Brennan obeyed, allowing him to remove her clothing smoothly and closing her eyes to relish the sensation of his fingers tracing lightly over her flushed skin. They drifted from her wrists and down the length of her arms until reaching her breasts, and she arched her back upward responsively. Booth licked his lips as the hardened peaks of her breasts pushed into his palms, and he leaned toward her to capture one in his mouth. Brennan moaned, fighting the urge to weave her fingers into his hair and hold him against her breast. Her arms twitched as if to move, and Booth admonished her with a slight nip of his teeth.

"Stay still, baby. Just feel."

She pouted adorably and wiggled beneath him a little, silently urging him to continue his progress downward. Booth was in no hurry, however, and he took even more time teasing her other nipple. By the time his lips moved to her stomach, she was panting with need.

"Please," she begged.

"What do you want, Bones?" He grinned against her sweet-smelling skin, knowing full well what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her say it. "Tell me."

"I want your mouth on me," she groaned, thrusting her hips toward him. She looked down to watch him, and their eyes locked as his tongue made contact with her slick flesh. Booth growled low in his chest, savoring the taste of her. He loved her slowly and thoroughly, and his eyes were still on her face when she came against his mouth.

"God, you're sexy," he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief at his own good fortune. This stunning creature was _his_ , and his body was on fire for her. It seemed incredible that he'd been in love with her for nearly two years, and yet she could still affect him this way. His desire consumed him, and in the next heartbeat, he was sliding into her.

Brennan gasped as he filled her and struggled to keep her hands in place. Booth read her urgency and moved them himself, pulling her arms down to his neck. Her eyes fluttered open, and she framed his face with her hands, guiding his lips to her own. She felt him lengthen inside of her as he began to move faster, surging into her with each forward thrust. Brennan clasped her legs around his hips and kept pace with his rhythm, moaning hungrily as she chased her release once more. Booth lifted his mouth from hers, breathing heavily.

"Look at me, baby. Open your eyes."

Brennan met his heated gaze, and the intensity of the love she saw there sent her over the edge. She clenched around him, throwing her head back in surrender to the waves of pleasure that rocked through her. The sight, sound, and feeling of her climax proved to be more than Booth could withstand, and he erupted within her, shaking in her arms until he no longer had the strength to hold himself above her. He collapsed onto her, and Brennan smiled in satisfaction at the feel of his weight pressing her into the mattress. It was a sensation she'd been craving ever since he'd tackled her to the floor earlier that day.

"I love you, Bones," he told her, completely spent. They shared a long, sated kiss.

"I love you too."

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Booth found Brennan on the platform with the rest of the team the next day, and he was pleased to see Clark Edison among them. None of the other prospectives had lasted this long, and Booth hoped that it meant Brennan would be giving him the job soon.

"These are the bones we found on the altar," Brennan told Cam, gesturing to the handful of bones lying on the exam table.

"Can you confirm that any of these are Gavin Nichols'?" she asked. Clark spoke up instead.

"To be one hundred percent sure, we'd have to check DNA."

"Alright. Let's get that going."

"You guys got anything for me yet?" Booth asked.

"It's going to take longer than that, Seeley. They're still bringing stuff over from the vault."

"Yeah, and it was filled with priceless artifacts," Angela agreed.

"And probably materials stolen from other victims," Cam added. Hodgins backed them up.

"It's going to take months to sift through all that evidence."

"Seriously? _Months?_ "

"Zack." Brennan said, looking toward the main doors. Booth failed to notice her distraction.

"Yeah, we all miss Zack, but-"

"No, _Zack_." Her eyes were wide with astonishment as she pointed at the young man who was standing near the glass doors. Everyone turned to look and cried out in excitement to see him.

Zack's hair was buzzed in the typical military fashion, and he carried a standard issue green duffle bag over his shoulder. Booth and Clark watched from the platform as the rest of the team gathered around him, exchanging hugs. Angela was the first to ask why he was there, and Zack asked Hodgins if he could move back into his garage apartment. Hodgins agreed immediately and hugged him tightly. Brennan followed next, welcoming him home in a voice that was tense with emotion.

Booth was glad to see Zack again too, but he surveyed him from a distance at first. There was a certain quality about him that was all too familiar to Booth. He looked mentally exhausted, haunted even. As though he were struggling with things he might've seen.

"Did you get wounded or something?" Booth asked cautiously.

"No, they just sent me home," Zack replied. Booth nodded, opting to withhold judgment for the time being. He knew full well that the military wouldn't have dismissed him early without a compelling reason, but as always, Zack kept his emotions guarded.

"When can you start work?" Brennan asked eagerly. Zack looked at Clark in confusion.

"Nice meeting ya, bub," Booth said quietly to Clark.

"If you didn't fill my job, who's that guy?" Zack pointed to Clark, who smiled in resignation.

"Nobody," Clark replied, stripping off his latex gloves before leaving the platform. Hodgins was still taking in Zack's rugged appearance.

"Man, you look like crap," he smirked.

"Well, Iraq's not a vacation," Cam reminded him. Angela smiled and adjusted Zack's jacket.

"I think you look very rakish. Are you starving?"

"Actually, what I'd like is to get into whatever you were discussing when I came in."

Brennan smiled brightly and led him to the Bone Room, the rest of the squints following in their wake. She gave him a quick rundown of their findings thus far, and Zack examined each of the bones with his usual intense focus. Cam, Hodgins, and Angela were still lurking near the door.

"It's hard to concentrate when you're all staring at me," he told them. They smiled but left quietly.

"They're happy to see you," Brennan said quietly, her eyes downcast as she fought the urge to hug him again. Zack didn't respond to her comment but directed the conversation to the remains instead.

He postulated that the victim's head had been cooked before his flesh had been consumed. He also pointed out a pattern on the skull that Brennan had missed. It had initially appeared to be the result of the skull's impact with the windshield, but upon inspection at the microscopic level, a completely different pattern emerged. It hadn't been caused by the teeth or the windshield, and whatever it was hadn't left any trace evidence on the bone. Brennan's agile mind came upon the answer quickly, and she hurried from the room to let Booth know what they'd found.

Brennan explained to her husband that the cannibal had a diamond in his incisor, which had left a distinctive mark on the bone. When she added that she would like to be in on the next interrogation, Booth gave her a smile that reminded her of Parker on Christmas morning.

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Jason Harkness was an average looking young man in his late teens. He'd been kicked out of several private schools for assaulting fellow students, and his subsequent community service assignment had been janitorial work at Capital Mutual Bank in collaboration with the historical society.

"How the hell did you get in the vault?" Booth asked him, recalling the heavy equipment the FBI had needed to breach its defenses.

"Nobody can get in the vault. It's what you call impregnable," Jason sneered.

"Not true," Brennan replied, pulling an evidence bag from her field satchel. "This is the transmitter we found in the vault." Jason's expression altered slightly, and Booth saw a flash of something in his eyes. _Surprise...anxiety...fear?_

"Normal guy...comes across treasure in a vault… Starts selling it off? You went a whole different way," Booth said placidly. He watched Jason's features carefully as Brennan unwrapped a wax cylinder from her kit.

"Could you please bite this?"

"No." His tone was neither angry nor frightened. Only the odd twist of his lips indicated his arrogance.

"Dr. Brennan was only being polite," Booth advised him. "We have a warrant for that too, Jason. So, either you bite...or I'll make you."

"What do you need it for?" Jason asked, feigning confusion. Brennan answered his question.

"The diamond in your incisor left a mark on the skull."

"In the skull that you gnawed on," Booth added for effect. Jason's expression shifted again, and his arrogance came through in full force. A strange sort of gleam warmed his eyes, and Booth was reminded forcibly of Howard Epps. When Jason spoke, his voice had the same controlled, confident quality.

"It's not like chicken or pork, you know. People always say that. It's more like beef. The face is a little sweeter, more tender. The younger the person, the better. Except for babies… Babies taste kind of like fish."

He picked up the wax cylinder and bit into it theatrically, his dark manic eyes locked on Brennan. Booth bit back a growl and waited impatiently for Brennan to rewrap the wax cylinder and place it in an evidence bag. He ushered her out of the room and instructed the agents waiting outside to take Jason Harkness to lockup for the night.

Brennan delivered the dental impression to the Zack at the lab, and she and Booth headed home for the evening. However, they'd barely finished their dinner before her phone was buzzing. Zack had already texted her earlier to inform her that the ten bones recovered from the vault had come from six different victims, but now he was insisting that she come in to look at something else.

"What's he wanting to show us?" Booth asked as they entered through the sliding glass doors.

"I don't know; he wouldn't say. That's why we're here." As they neared the platform, their eyes widened in shock at the sight of Zack lying on one of the silver exam tables. Booth rushed ahead of her and bounded up the steps.

"Zack! Zack… Zack?" He lowered his head to Zack's chest.

"Oy," Zack muttered, looking confused. "Why are you listening to my chest?"

"Because I thought you were dead," Booth snapped, rolling his eyes.

"Why?"

" _Why?_ You're lying on a stainless steel table for dead people."

"I got tired," Zack replied simply. He certainly looked it. Booth took in his glazed eyes and dark circles, shaking his head in disapproval.

"New rules, okay? Sleeping is for couches and beds, stuff like that."

Zack shrugged slightly and glanced at Brennan, who had lost interest in the exchange quickly. Her attention was focused on a nearby computer monitor, and her expression registered her astonishment at what Zack had found.

"Oh. My. God," she said loudly.

"What?"

"I thought you'd want to know," Zack said, still sounding exhausted.

" _What?"_ Booth asked again. Brennan turned her wide eyes back to Zack.

"You compared depth, apogee, and dimension?"

"Yes. Three times."

"And there's no way that it was a case of pre- and post-diamond inset?" she pressed.

" _What?"_ Booth repeated, feeling frustrated.

"The newest bones, the phalanges and the skull, bear only the gnaw marks of Jason Harkness," Zack said calmly.

"One bone, the femur, was gnawed upon by Jason _and_ a second person," Brennan continued, pulling up another image of the bone at a higher magnification. "See the distinct second pattern?" Booth was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference if she were showing him a close-up picture of the moon, but he forged ahead.

"So Jason invited a guest over for dinner?"

"No, Jason was the one invited," Brennan replied.

"How do you know?"

"Well the oldest bones were gnawed on by another person with no diamond in his incisor."

"Another person. _Not_ Jason," he concluded, suddenly feeling as tired as Zack looked.

"There's someone else out there… Probably someone older who pulled Jason into this." She looked at Zack again and congratulated him on a job well done.

Since they were near the facility where Jason Harkness was being held, Booth and Brennan decided to pay him a quick visit. They were hoping that catching him off guard might help in getting the name of the second cannibal. As they waited for the guards to retrieve Jason from his cell, Booth's thoughts wandered back to Zack.

"Hey, Bones, um…" he paused hesitantly, wondering if he wasn't about to tread into sensitive territory. "Do you think Zack's coping with everything alright?"

"What do you mean?" Her brow furrowed, and Booth shrugged uncomfortably.

"Well, you know, I've been around guys who had a rough time over there, and I've seen a little bit of them in Zack. I get that he's probably jetlagged as hell, but he looks like he hasn't slept in a week."

"I don't know… I've noticed that he seems a little different, but I guess I've just been so happy to see him again that I passed it off as exhaustion."

"Cam said the army made him talk to a shrink. Zack told her that he 'failed to assimilate.'" His fingers sketched quotation marks around the last three words, and Brennan frowned.

"He talked to Cam about it?" She failed to keep the sensitivity out of her tone, and Booth gave her a compassionate smile. She would never admit it, but the fact that Zack had opened up to Cam rather than Brennan left her feeling a little hurt.

"I'm sure she just asked him about his reasons for coming home early. She commented on how tired he looks too."

"Are you implying he might be suffering from nightmares?

"Maybe," he sighed. "I don't know. Look, don't worry about it, Bones. We'll all keep an eye on him. Reacclimating is hard even for the toughest soldiers. Just give the kid some time, okay?"

Brennan opened her mouth to ask if he would consider talking to Zack about things, but she was interrupted by the warden. The man led them to Jason's cell.

"So we came in to wake him… This is what we found." He gestured to the bars of Jason's cell.

"Oh my God," Booth said under his breath, taking in the grotesque scene.

Jason Harkness was partially bound to the bars of his cell, completely stripped of his clothing, with a dagger protruding from the center of his chest. Though he seemed to have stabbed himself with his left hand, his legs and right arm were extended and bent to the left, and his face was turned upward. The odd pose was identical to that of the silver skeleton.

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"We've gotta get Hodgins in on this," Booth insisted as they drove back to the lab.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the ritual cannibalism was one thing, but now we've got ritual suicide? Come on, this is obviously his territory."

"You actually _want_ to hear his conspiracy theories?" If she were a superstitious person, Brennan might have wondered if it was a full moon.

"Just humor me, okay?"

"Can we at least get some coffee first?" she begged, whining a little.

"We'll get some afterward," he promised.

An enormous portion of the lower level at the Jeffersonian now housed a replicated version of the vault. It had been meticulously reconstructed with the actual items and metal gates they had recovered, and Brennan was only mildly surprised to find it buzzing with interns from the Authentications Department.

"Booth said you needed me?" Hodgins asked her, bouncing down the steps with more pep than was decent for the wee hours of the morning. His grin stretched wide across his face.

"I noticed that Jason Harkness _arranged_ his suicide," Brennan explained.

"If it was a suicide, then someone provided him with the dagger," Cam surmised.

"His body is arranged in the same position as the silver skeleton."

"So, Hodgins, you think that's a coincidence?" Booth asked expectantly. Hodgins' eyes gleamed excitedly, and he laughed out loud.

"So suddenly you think my insane conspiracy ravings are legitimate?"

"No," Brennan said quickly, but Booth's affirmative reply was almost simultaneous. She resisted the compulsion to roll her eyes. "But obviously, there are other insane people out there who have the same ravings, and we need our insight."

"Alright, alright," Hodgins said eagerly. He looked as though he might actually rub his hands together in glee as he took the casefile from Brennan. "Both the body and the silver skeleton are in the attitude of what the ancient Greeks called _pharmakos._ It means 'scapegoat' or 'sacrifice.'"

"So, what...like he was being pulled into the sky against his will?" Booth asked.

"You mean...aliens?" Brennan added, forcing her expression to remain neutral.

"One definite possibility, yes," Hodgins replied, looking encouraged. "Also the 'Rapture.' Now, as I tried to tell you before, most secret societies have this figure deep in their origins. For Freemasons, it's known as the 'Widow's Son.'"

"Interesting," Cam said. "Gavin Nichols lost his father when he was twelve."

"A widow's son," Hodgins agreed.

"Right, so Jason Harkness killed himself to keep his secret society a secret," Booth mused.

"Or was sacrificed," Hodgins added. Brennan felt compelled to bring the conversation back to the evidence.

"Strictly speaking, the evidence so far indicates only one other murderer."

"This entire vault is filled with evidence," Cam pointed out. "Who knows where it will take us?"

"Deeper than you can imagine," Hodgins replied. "Probably get us all killed, just so you know…" He headed back toward the stairs, handing the file to Brennan.

"Thanks, man," Booth said, and Hodgins merely shrugged as he passed. "No, no, Hodgins. Really… Thanks, man." Hodgins turned back to see a more serious expression on Booth's face than he would've expected.

"Yeah, man. Be safe." He threw the last two words over his shoulder as he disappeared from the room.

"Come on, Bones. I owe you some coffee."

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The sun was rising over the Reflecting Pool as they paid for their drinks at their favorite coffee cart, and they settled themselves on a park bench nearby.

"The ancient Greek from the back of the vault door was translated to: 'Will no one help the Widow's Son?' Hodgins was right. This killer's part of something bigger." He handed her coffee over and listened as she continued, "Gavin Nichols' violin was in there. I bet there are belongings from other murder victims too. We have to catalogue every item in that vault."

"Hot coffee," he reminded her gently, but she was in her stride and completely distracted now.

"After we do the visual and microscopic examination of each human bone in the silver skeleton, we'll take samples and do an in-depth osteological breakdown. We really have a lot to do."

"Yeah, starting with _coffee._ "

"An isotope profile will allow us to narrow down the possible geographic hits…" She lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, but Booth's hand covered the lid just before it reached her lips.

"Hey, it's _hot!"_ She froze for a moment before lowering the cup. "You were gonna burn yourself, Bones."

"Thank you," she said, feeling slightly off-kilter.

"Listen, this whole serial killer thing… It's not gonna be our usual case."

"Why?"

"Because… It's big, and he's bad."

"I don't see what difference that makes."

"Cause you have to slow down, right? Take a breath. You have to realize that this is not a sprint; it's gonna be a marathon. _Marathon_ , Bones. Coming from Greek, meaning _really, really, really long run._ "

"That's not how the word 'marathon' originated," she argued. He sighed, feeling the full extent of his exhaustion.

"I just mean that… You sound like you're about to kick off a long round of sleeping in your office and using the decontamination shower. You can't do that stuff anymore, Bones. This case is gonna get under your skin, but we have to live our lives too, you know?"

"Oh." She sipped her coffee carefully, silently acknowledging the truth of his words. "I guess you're right. I'll try not to let it overwhelm me." He smiled in approval, and they drank their coffee in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Look, there's something else I gotta know… Are we solid? I mean, not our _marriage_ , obviously we're good there. But our _partnership_ …?"

"Of course," she replied, slightly confused at his question. "I'm sorry if I made you worry that it wasn't, but… Why are you asking me this?"

"Because. You and me… We're the center," he said simply, looking intensely into her blue eyes.

"And the center must hold," she nodded. They shared an affectionate smile and scooted closer together on the bench. Booth wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they sipped their coffee as they enjoyed the view.

The center would hold.

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By the time Booth and Brennan caught up on the sleep they'd lost with the Widow's Son case, the weekend was upon them. Parker was with them for the weekend, and they spent most of Saturday visiting Hank. They made it back to DC in time for Parker to attend a birthday sleepover at a friend's house, and they were able to enjoy a quiet evening at home together. Booth spent a few hours in their home office working on foster parent background checks while Brennan did a few chores and made dinner. Booth had expected his wife to insist on putting in a few hours at the lab that night, but she surprised him.

"No, you were right, Booth. I can't spend every spare minute in the lab on this one. There are other areas of my life that require my attention, and in the meantime, our Authentications Department is cataloguing the evidence from the vault. I'll be checking on their progress periodically, and Angela is going to devote some of her free time to the task as well."

"Wow," Booth grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I could get used to this feeling…"

"What feeling?"

"You… saying I was _right_. It's almost like being high," he teased. "Is this what you feel like all the time?" Brennan rolled her eyes but smiled in good humor.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she advised with a smirk. He bent his head to kiss her gently, still looking rather pleased with himself. "I was coming to tell you that dinner's ready. You've been in here for a while. Have you found anything else?" Brennan asked, gesturing to the file Booth had forgotten he was holding. He sighed as he handed her the folder.

"Paul Carter died of cancer in 2001. His wife moved to Texas not long after. She's still there."

"Nothing to connect them to Max?" she asked, scanning the documents with a practiced eye.

"Nope. Nothing suspicious in either of their pasts. They were stripped of their foster care license not long after you ran away. You weren't the only who made allegations of neglect. They were prosecuted for one of the cases, and they both served a little time. Not enough, though… they were both out on good behavior within two years." Booth gritted his teeth at the injustice.

"That's not all that surprising. Complaints of neglect from a foster child are rarely taken seriously, even if there are medical records to support the claim. I'm actually surprised that they were punished at all." She handed the file back to him, and they made their way to the kitchen for dinner. "The Hammels were next, and we already know what happened to the husband. What about the wife?"

"I just started checking, but it looks like they divorced in the late nineties. He had no other family to speak of, and from the way their divorce case reads, I can understand why the wife wouldn't care enough to claim his remains. I'm still working on tracking her down, but she was contacted about Hammel's death. She refused to claim the remains, so we know she was alive at least at that point in time."

"His wife was never directly violent. Hammel was abusive to her too, and I think she used us as a sort of buffer. If he was hurting us, he left her alone."

Booth filed that information away and reached across the table for her hand. She squeezed his hand, silently reassuring him that she was alright. He smiled sadly before returning to his meal, wishing that he had her strength. As he spent more time working through her foster care file, he felt increasingly more satisfaction over the fact that at least two of her abusers had met with unpleasant ends.

If it turned out that Max _did_ have anything to do with the deaths of anyone in that file, Booth knew that he wouldn't be the one to turn him in. It was difficult for him to reconcile his job with his desire for vengeance, but in this case his guilt was losing the fight. There had been a time in his life that Booth would never have dreamed of letting something like this go, but seeing and reading the horrors of his wife's teenage years had broken something within him. At this point, he was more inclined to _thank_ his father-in-law than have him prosecuted.

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A few days later, they were called to a new crime scene involving a car bomb that had exploded at a local park. The fire department had extinguished the blaze, but the area was still buzzing with emergency responders when Booth and Brennan arrived. Much to Brennan's dismay, the FBI forensic team had beaten them to the scene, and she was eager to get to work. When Booth noticed the irritated expression on her face, he found himself wishing that he'd chosen a better time for the conversation he'd started in the car.

"What is it that you're suggesting, Booth?"

 _Tread carefully,_ he advised himself.

"Just that… Caroline went to a lot of trouble to get you private visitation with your father, and she mentioned that you hadn't made use of it."

"I didn't ask her to do that; you did."

"Which is why she was grilling me about it," he muttered.

"Why does Caroline care whether I see him or not?" They got out of the SUV, and she pulled a pair of gloves from her bag as they approached the charred remains of a mini-van. "The federal detention facility already has visiting areas."

"Yeah, behind two-inch glass. Now you'll be able to give your old man a hug," he pointed out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her as if to demonstrate. He forced a smile onto his face in spite of her obvious sour mood.

"I didn't ask for special treatment, Booth."

"You don't have to, Bones, because you _are_ special." he said with exaggerated encouragement as they she pulled away from him to investigate the van. "And you're gonna tell me... _whoa_..." Booth caught sight of two charred forearms still attached to the steering wheel. There was no body attached to them. "...what happened to whoever is melted to that steering wheel and...everything else." He cringed and the still-smoking interior of the vehicle and was reminded of their second case as partners. That case had involved a car bomb as well, but fortunately, this one didn't seem to have killed anyone other than the occupant of the car.

"Female. Mid-forties to late fifties," Brennan announced. "Pelvis indicates she's given birth." Booth spotted a wedding ring on what was left of the woman's left hand and pointed it out to her. While she bagged the woman's ring and ring finger, she turned her attention to one of the FBI techs. "Hey, don't just focus on the ground," she advised, pointing to half of the woman's leg that had been thrown into a nearby tree. She rounded to the other side of the vehicle and said, "Do we know if it was a bomb that caused the explosion?"

"Well… The roof is peeled back and the doors-"

"I was asking Geier," she explained, pointing to another FBI tech. Marcus Geier had worked with them often enough to be considered a familiar face, but Booth couldn't help feeling a little proud that Brennan had known his name. She'd come a long way since they'd begun their partnership.

"We found explosive residue all over the van and metal fragments in the bushes," Geier replied.

"What is that?" Booth asked. "A pipe bomb?"

"I can't really be sure until the explosives unit gets the van back to the lab."

"No, they'd can't have the van," Brennan declared. "There are remains seared all over the inside of the vehicle, and they can't be compromised."

"I have to call-"

"This van will be brought to the Jeffersonian. Your bomb techs can look at it there." Her tone was firm, and Geier looked more than a little flustered. Booth felt sorry for the guy but opted to stay out of it. He had no desire to turn his wife's irritation upon himself.

"I'll...make the call?" Geier stammered. Booth encouraged him to run away and turned his attention back to Brennan.

"Look, Booth." She pulled a locket from the wreckage and opened it to reveal pictures of a young girl in a soccer uniform. Booth guessed that the girl was most likely the victim's daughter, and Brennan wondered aloud who would want to blow up a soccer mom.

She insisted that they stick around long enough to see that the vehicle was indeed taken to the Jeffersonian rather than the FBI forensic lab, and Booth made the necessary phone calls to get an agent from the bomb unit to meet them. The only person readily available was a woman named Agent Frost, and he introduced her to the squints when she arrived at the Jeffersonian. Hodgins would be working with her directly, and he looked especially pleased to be doing so. Agent Frost was a very attractive woman, and Hodgins was a bit starstruck in her presence.

Brennan observed the interaction with academic curiosity, paying particular attention to Angela's response. The artist sidled up to her fiancé and introduced herself to Frost as the person who does facial reconstructions... _and Hodgins_. Brennan smirked at her friend's forwardness and glanced at her husband. She was pleased to note that Booth didn't seem to have noticed Agent Frost's appearance at all; he was focused on the case.

"License plate was destroyed, but we traced the VIN number on the van. It was registered to a Jeremy Nash in Culpepper, Virginia." He showed Brennan the man's file, and she commented that the man looked somewhat familiar. Booth shrugged and looked at the evidence trays spread over a table near the vehicle. They were full of the blackened contents of the van. "Man, our victim was traveling with a lot of stuff. Clothes, personal items…"

"Photo album," Brennan added, pointing to the object. "Most of the pictures were burned, but the man in this photo could be Nash." Cam surmised that the victim might have been leaving her husband, and the idea elicited a groan from Booth.

"Ah, God. I hate domestic cases. Alright, so let's go talk to the husband."

"I can't. I'm seeing my father," Brennan replied.

"Now?" he asked, surprised that she seemed to be following his advice when she had seemed so opposed to it earlier that day.

"You and Caroline went to a lot of trouble setting this up… I would hate to appear ungrateful."

"Well, Caroline might think that, but I wouldn't. You know that, Bones. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I know, but…maybe you were right. Maybe avoiding him is just making me feel worse," she shrugged, heading to her office to shed her crime scene jumpsuit. Booth watched her from the doorway.

"You know, when you said I was right last time, I thought it was just a fluke, but…" He trailed off, grinning incorrigibly. She shot him a glare that dared him to continue, but he wisely opted to let it go. "Alright, well, I'll go talk to the husband and talk to you later?"

"Okay," she nodded, kissing him goodbye before heading toward the sliding glass doors. "Love you," she called over her shoulder.

"Love you too."

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 **Reviews brighten my day! Thanks for reading. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again! Thanks, as always, for all of the reviews and feedback. I haven't been able to reply to all of them, but I'm recovering well from my surgery last week.**

 **So, we see Max again in this chapter. You'll notice the dialogue of the scenes hasn't changed much (if at all), and that was intentional. The real point of interest is what's going on in their minds.**

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Chapter 4

Brennan waited for Max to be escorted into a private visitation room, feeling more than a little nervous at the prospect of seeing him again. The last time she'd visited, she'd promised to bring wedding photos as well as a deck of cards. She wasn't sure why he had requested the latter of the two, but on her way to the prison, she had picked up the cards as well as the wedding album Angela had compiled. When a guard ushered him into the room, her father wore a bright smile. Brennan was beginning to think of it as his default expression. It was an unpleasant reminder that her father was a con man, and she felt her prior irritation resurface.

"Oh, gee, _real chairs_ ," he said enthusiastically. "It's nice to have an important daughter." He moved forward to kiss her cheek, but she moved away.

"This is Booth, not me."

"Well, you thank him for me," Max said as they sat in a pair armchairs that faced one another. "I always liked Booth. Nicest guy that ever arrested me."

"Touching." _What I_ should _be thanking Booth for is my improved comprehension of sarcasm,_ she mused.

"Well, you must like this… Me in here. I finally have to follow the rules," he joked.

"So that makes me less than you because I think people should follow the rules?"

"You're upset," he observed.

"Yeah, of course I'm upset. My father's a criminal," she snapped. He winced at her tone.

"No, _outlaw_. There's a difference."

"Subtle distinctions like that are lost on me and, I imagine, your victims. _All_ of them." She watched his features for a sign that he had caught her implication, but she couldn't be sure. Max thought that she only knew about Garrett Delaney and Robert Kirby, but if her suspicions were correct about the things he'd done to 'make things right,' then she'd implied a knowledge of his other misdeeds as well. She knew that they couldn't speak openly about it; there were undoubtedly cameras recording their visit. To her disappointment, Max seemed to give nothing away.

"I know you want some sort of nice, neat story that puts my life in perspective for you, but it doesn't work that way."

"You could try. Don't I deserve that?" She moderated her anger and kept her voice even and quiet for the moment.

"I guess I always had a problem with authority," he shrugged. "I just always saw myself fighting the system. Kinda like Robin Hood." The con man smile was back, and it irritated the hell out of her.

"Do you realize how _ridiculous_ you sound?" she asked incredulously. "You're here for murdering the Deputy Director of the FBI."

"He was a crook," Max said bluntly, his smile now completely gone. "He was a killer, and he was going to kill _you._ " She continued as though he hadn't spoken, unable to contradict his statements.

" _And_ you walked out on Russ and me when I was fifteen!"

"But that was to protect you. People were after us."

"Because you were a criminal," she said firmly.

" _Outlaw_. See, I knew you weren't going to understand."

"You know what? You're right. This is my fault for expecting we could get past-"

"We _can_ get past this," he insisted. "We can. The court, they're gonna decide how to punish me, but now? Here? We can make this whatever we want."

 _And then what?_ she thought. _They find him guilty, and he's sentenced to death? I let him in just to lose him all over again?_ She looked at him with a sad expression on her face, and his was equally disappointed. Her longing for a better relationship with her father was warring against her instincts for self-preservation, and after a few moments, she couldn't stand to be in the room with him any longer. She hadn't shown him the photo album, but the only item she removed from her bag was the deck of cards. She slid them across the small table toward him.

"Here are the cards you asked for. I've got to go."

"Wait. These are for us."

"What?" she frowned.

"Come on. You remember that game we used to play when you were five years old?"

"Blitz," she replied after a quick search of her memory.

"Blitz," he nodded. "Come on, let's play a couple of hands."

"You always beat me. I remember that too. A good father would occasionally allow his child to win," she said confidently, thinking of the many games she'd watched Booth lose to his son.

"I don't believe in encouraging all that self-esteem crap. You wanna win? Earn it. That's why you're so good at what you do now. Cause you know that nobody is gonna hand you anything."

 _Or maybe it was the years I spent trying to survive neglect and abuse after you abandoned me,_ she sneered inwardly.

"So, you were a great father." _Sarcasm wins again._

"Well, maybe just not as bad as you think," he smiled. "How about this? One hand? Come on," he pled. She ignored the request and stood abruptly.

"Let me know if you need anything else." She was nearly out the door when he spoke again.

"Oh, well socks. Socks, you know, with the arch supports? I gotta stand on that chow line forever," he joked. She turned to leave without so much as a nod in his direction, and this time he didn't stop her.

Max watched, heavy-hearted, as she disappeared from view. As he was led back to his cell, he replayed the conversation in his mind. Although he had kept his expression fairly neutral, he had certainly caught her earlier implication. If she'd only known about Delaney and Kirby, she'd have said 'both victims.' Instead, she had said ' _all_ of them.' He supposed she might have been referring to Vince McVicar, but his intuition told him otherwise. The question was...how much did she know? How could she have found out? With Delaney and Kirby, it had been necessary to send a message, to stage the dump sites dramatically enough to draw attention. That hadn't been the case with the others, and Max was confident that he'd left no evidence behind.

The brief visit with his daughter weighed heavily upon his mind long after she'd left. She was obviously still angry with him. Possibly even angrier than she'd been when he'd allowed Booth to arrest him. He had noticed that she was still wearing her mother's ring, which did reassure him somewhat. She seemed to have forgiven her mother.

Did that mean she might eventually forgive him too?

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While Brennan was visiting with Max, Booth traveled to the victim's home in Virginia to notify her husband. Jeremy Nash seemed upset, but not as stunned as Booth would have expected. As such, he was compelled to ask if the couple had been having any problems. Booth referred to the nature of the items in the vehicle and the obvious conclusion they implied. Nash insisted, however, that his wife had been transporting things for their daughter's dorm room. He then became flustered and angry, seeming indignant that the FBI hadn't figured out who was responsible yet. In almost the next instant, the man was despondent, wondering aloud how he was going to tell his daughter that her mother was dead.

Booth returned to the lab, texting Brennan on his way. She replied that she was already on her way back. He pondered Jeremy Nash's demeanor as he drove, uncertain what to make of it. Grief and shock could make a person react in a number of ways, so his mercurial moods weren't necessarily enough to make him a suspect. Not yet, anyway. When he arrived at the lab, he tracked down his wife and greeted her with a brief kiss, attempting to read her emotional state in the aftermath of her visit to the prison.

"Nash is gonna pick up his kid, tell her in person… I mean, I don't know you do that. Tell your kid that their mother just got blown up?"

"I would imaging a direct approach would be best," Brennan replied, wincing sympathetically at the thought of the young girl.

"Well, I don't know how he could possibly sugar coat it." He fell silent for a moment as they walked through the lab. "How's your dad? You haven't mentioned him."

"Apparently, his feet hurt."

"No, I mean…you know, his spirits."

"Well, he's a con man, Booth. He's always cheerful."

"What? That's it?"

"It's not like I ever really had a father. Or at least not in a really long time. Max was absent for years."

"Well, here's what I know," he said gently. The tone of his voice forced her to make eye contact. "I know that Nash girl would give anything to spend one more day with her mother. I'm sure you'd feel the same way if something happened to your father."

Brennan couldn't argue with his logic, particularly since _she_ had lost her mother as well. She'd been able to forgive her, but it would've been better if she could've had even a little time with her mother before she died. A little time in which there were no secrets between them and no drama… She didn't know if that would ever be possible with Max. He seemed to _thrive_ on secrets and hidden agendas. She couldn't simply dismiss him entirely either though; the thought of doing so left her feeling as though she would be missing something important. Maybe she would pick up the socks on the way home this evening…

"I confirmed triphenylmethane dye and iron sulfate embedded in the manubrium and the flesh," Hodgins announced by way of greeting them. Booth gave him a questioning look, and Hodgins went on to explain that both were found in ball point ink.

"Ah. It's a homemade tattoo," Booth surmised.

"Angela's working on recreating the design. She's also trying to reconstruct a handwritten letter that we found in the vehicle." The three of them went to Angela's office and found the artist at her computer. Cam was already there, watching her attempts to render the design of the tattoo. It had been crudely done, most likely with a needle and a ballpoint pen. It had been pushed so deep that it had penetrated the victim's periosteum.

"Doesn't seem like a very soccer mom thing to do," Cam commented. "And there's no record of her being in prison."

"And...here we go," Angela said, drawing everyone's attention back to the monitor. The design wasn't at all what they might have expected.

"An inverted pentagram? Devil worship," Cam mused.

"Mom had a little thing going on the side with Satan? Ah...the 'burbs," Hodgins grinned appreciatively.

"There's a design in the center that I can't quite get," Angela told them. Hodgins leaned over to help.

"Wait... Is that a fist?" she asked. Booth and Brennan both repeated the word in confusion as the rendering became clearer. "Yeah. Oh my God, it _is_ a fist."

"So she wasn't Satan's old lady… She was in the NLA," Hodgins concluded.

"NLA?"

"National Liberation Army," Booth translated.

"Student radicals in the seventies. Thought they could change the world. Set off bombs in army recruiting offices, torched cop cars-"

"Yeah, real visionaries," Booth grumbled, interrupting Hodgins' explanation. "They also shot and killed a cop in '75."

"That was the burglary," Hodgins agreed, pulling up a black and white picture of young couple. "They broke into the house of a defense contractor to rip off his safe. They said it was the people's money. June Harris and her boyfriend Neil Watkins were charged with the murder but never found."

"The FBI's been looking for them for thirty years," Booth said. Angela compared the photo with a current picture of the victim. It was the same woman.

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Not twenty minutes after Booth had called his boss to notify him of the victim's past identity, Caroline Julian was setting off the platform alarm and practically begging the squints to identify the victim as anyone other than June Harris. She revealed that Harris had been on the verge of surrendering herself to the FBI. Caroline had worked a deal with the woman's attorney. Booth was incredulous that Caroline had agreed on only a nine-year sentence for a crime as egregious as the murder of a cop, but Caroline had felt it was the best they would be able to get. Harris had maintained her innocence to the very end.

To add insult to injury, the agent who had been the lead on the case for the past thirty years hadn't known anything about the arrangement. Booth knew Agent Sam Reilly personally, and he was absolutely certain the man would be furious that this had gone down behind his back. He warned Caroline that he would be notifying Reilly the following morning, and she agreed to be there as well.

As anyone who knew the man could have predicted, Agent Reilly was angry and appalled at both the terms of the agreement as well as the fact that no one had even afforded him the courtesy of a phone call. Leaving him out of the loop was apparently part of the deal. Booth felt intensely uncomfortable in the situation. He was now considered to be the lead on the case, but Reilly had been one of the agents to train Booth when he first came to the DC field office. The man's blustery, cantankerous personality only served to make things more awkward.

After Caroline had delivered her typical dose of verbal backhanding, Reilly agreed to watch from the observation room while she and Booth interrogated Leonard Huntzinger. He had been June Harris' attorney, and he had been instrumental in a number of incendiary cases throughout the course of his career. He praised June Harris and Neil Watkins as heroes of their own time. His arrogance seemed to permeate the room, and even through the two-way mirror it was enough to send Reilly over the edge. He burst into the room and had Huntzinger up against the wall before Booth could even rise to his feet.

"You son of a bitch. Watkins and Harris are not _heroes_. You want to know how they changed society? Ask the kid whose father they killed," Reilly shouted.

"I know that kid. He became a cop just like his father. Very touching," Huntzinger sneered.

Booth forced Reilly back and placed himself between the two men, but Reilly still managed to get close enough that Huntzinger could push him away. It was enough to constitute assault on a federal agent, and Caroline saw to it that he was remanded into custody.

"What a surprise. Lock me up to shut me up," he spat. "You should be talking to that kid, Valenti, instead of busting my ass. The pig comes to me the other day wanting to know where June Harris is. He said he got a letter from her, as if she'd write him or I'd give her up." He lifted his shirt to reveal his abdomen. "See these bruises? A _gift_ from your noble son of a cop."

Reilly glared menacingly at him, clearly not believing a word he'd said. Huntzinger was escorted out of the room, and Reilly stomped off in the opposite direction a few moments later. Booth decided to give his former mentor some time to cool off, and in the meantime, he would track down Danny Valenti.

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Brennan stood in the visitation room once again, waiting for her father to make an appearance. She was still angry with him, but she didn't seem to be able to settle on a path that she was comfortable with. She could either give him another chance or ignore him altogether, and neither option gave her any peace of mind. She took a seat in the chair she had occupied the day before and removed the package of socks from her bag, placing it on the small table between the two armchairs.

"Tempe!" Max was beaming at her as the guard removed his cuffs and closed the door behind him. "I didn't expect to see you again… so soon." Brennan noted the way he had tacked on the last two words slightly late, and she pushed the resulting guilt away with determination.

"I brought your socks," she replied, adopting her best tone of detachment. She had come back, but she wasn't about to make it easy for him.

"Thank you." He sat down and promptly removed his shoes to put on a pair of the new socks. "Nice and soft. I'll be the best dressed on cell block eight. Thanks," he repeated.

"Sure."

"Honey," he sighed. "I'm sorry." His smile had faded, and now he looked appropriately contrite.

"For what?"

"For… For being such a disappointment as a father. You deserve better, and I should've told you sooner." Brennan stared back at him, maintaining her even expression as well as her silence. "That's it? Nothing?"

"Well, what were you expecting? I agree with you," she shrugged. He grimaced unhappily.

"I was expecting some tears or a hug or something… I did apologize. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"You didn't mean it?" she asked, trying to decipher his intentions.

"Of course I meant it," he assured her. Listen, under any objective standard, you have a horrible human being for a father, but I'm trying to move on. I got caught so that I could be with you. I was hoping you'd meet me halfway." He was almost pleading with her, and she softened minutely in response.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Max didn't seem to know how to respond, so she took the opportunity to pull something else from her bag. "I got you some shampoo. Soap isn't good for your hair."

"Oh, nice. I… I don't want to smell _too_ good; that could be a problem around here." The smile was back, and this time Brennan felt her lips curving upward in spite of herself. "There, see? That's better. Thanks."

"Sure," she nodded. Max sighed and looked down at his lap, still smiling a little. He wanted to ask about her life, her family, her work... He wanted to ask about her wedding and honeymoon, perhaps ask if she had a wedding picture with her. But he knew that she wasn't ready to open up to him about personal things quite yet, and he was willing to give her time. Instead, he thought of the only thing going on in _his_ life at the moment that might be of any interest to her.

"So the prosecutor's going to want to talk to you about me. It wouldn't hurt if you, uh…had some good things to say about your old man. Maybe even offer to testify on my behalf?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Not only because he realized she would take them the wrong way, but also because he knew that lying had never been her forte. The shift in her expression gave him a hollow feeling in his stomach.

"Is that why you finally apologized?" she asked indignantly. "To use me? Maybe you'd like me to alter evidence now. That way I could join the family business." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Max backpedaled quickly.

"How could you think that?"

"I don't know, Max." He winced at her use of his given name. "Maybe because I seem to pass in and out of your life when it's most convenient for you. Maybe because you built a whole career using your considerable charm to manipulate people?" Her eyes shimmered slightly as she spoke, and he looked away from them in shame. When he lifted his head again, she was reaching down for her bag, preparing to leave.

"Wait, listen… I know it's hard to trust me. I know. And it's gonna take some time to fix things, but we can-"

" _No_. No. Some things break, and you can't put them back together again. That's just the way it is. I was fine on my own, Max. _I was just fine._ "

He pleaded with her to wait, to stay, but she ignored him and fled from the room for the second time in as many days. Max wanted to kick himself for his stupidity, but there was no way to unring the bell. He sighed in frustration and rose to meet the guard so that he could return to his cell, his thoughts still on his daughter.

 _Was she right?_ he wondered. His mind replayed her last words on an endless loop. _Are we so broken that we can't be fixed?_ He could recall a time in her life that they had been able to talk about anything. Their mutual love of science had allowed her to connect with him in a way she couldn't with anyone else, and he missed it so much that his chest ached with the memory of it.

 _Maybe it was arrogant of me to think that she'd eventually come around. I sure as hell don't deserve her forgiveness. No matter how much I try to make amends, I can't change the fact that we left her._ He decided in that moment that he wouldn't be asking her to testify on his behalf, and he wouldn't let his lawyer ask her either. Aside from the fact that she was certain of his guilt, he felt that he had no business asking her for favors. He would take what she was willing to give him and nothing more.

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Brennan sat in the parking lot outside of the prison until she felt composed enough to drive. She didn't want to feel the pain Max's words had stirred up, and even if she were willing to spend any time analyzing it, she needed to get back to the lab. She knew that Booth would ask her about her visit later, but she simply couldn't stand to think about it at the moment. So, in her well-practiced manner, she boxed up her feelings securely and shoved them to the back of her mind. There would be time for emotions later; right now, she needed to work.

Brennan returned to the lab and got updates from the rest of the team. Agent Frost had determined that the detonator seemed to have been a wristwatch. Hodgins was trying to locate a manufacturer in spite of the fact that the watch itself had been nearly obliterated in the blast. Zack had discovered evidence of a previous gunshot wound in June Harris' right shoulder. The bullet had never been removed, and the fragments were embedded in the bone. He had sent them to the FBI for ballistics analysis, but he was in the process of determining the time of the injury.

Booth was pleased to see her as she stepped off the elevator at the Hoover, but there was no opportunity for privacy. Sam Reilly had cooled off enough to stop screaming at people, but he had since taken to hounding Booth for information. He listened to Brennan's report with his trademark scowl firmly in place.

"It doesn't make any sense," Reilly argued. "The van was rigged to blow up. Why shoot her?"

"Well, until we see what Ballistics determines, it's absurd to speculate," Brennan replied.

"Speculating is kind of what we do here."

"Listen," Booth said quickly, hoping to stop the inevitable confrontation between his former mentor and his wife. "Danny Valenti's a cop. June Harris murdered his father. He has a gun."

"He's a good kid, Booth. He didn't do it," Reilly insisted.

"But that is meaningless speculation," Brennan maintained.

"Is she really necessary?" Reilly asked Booth, his eyes burning a hole into the back of Brennan's head.

"She's my partner."

"Mentors often feel threatened when their students surpass them."

"Bones!"

"Well, it's true, Booth." She seemed unaware of Reilly's rising blood pressure as she continued, "Change can be difficult to accept whether it comes in the form of a revolutionary or the simple passage of time."

"If she were a guy, _I'd deck her._ " Reilly fumed.

"Well, you know, that distinction is no longer necessary, but I wouldn't recommend it," she advised. Booth's shoulders were tense, and he was immensely grateful that Valenti was waiting to be questioned. The trio had progressed through the hallways to the interrogation room, and Booth shepherded both of them into the room.

It turned out that June Harris had indeed sent a letter to Danny Valenti, apologizing for her involvement in his father's death. His credit card records revealed that he had purchased gas very near Harris' home, but he claimed that he had no idea where she had actually lived. He only knew the town from the postmark on the letter. Valenti had gone to Huntzinger in an attempt to persuade him to give up Harris' address, since he felt that the woman should've had the courage to come to him in person. Booth was surprised when Reilly supported his request for Valenti's gun so that they could run a ballistics check, but it didn't earn them any points with Valenti. He insisted that they get a warrant to check his gun.

Booth and Brennan went to the diner for lunch while the gun was being processed, and when they returned to his office, they were startled to find Agent Reilly perched against the desk with the report in his hand.

"Sam…?" Booth gestured as if to ask, _What the hell are you doing here?_ He rounded the desk and pulled the file from Reilly's hands.

"Ballistics says that the bullet was _not_ a match for Danny's gun," Reilly announced with satisfaction.

"Booth should have that report first; he's the lead," Brennan complained. Reilly scowled.

"You know, Booth, she must be _really_ good in bed, because I can't see any other reason you keep her around here." Brennan's mouth fell open in disgust.

" _I am,_ not that it's any of your-" Booth held up a hand to interrupt her.

"Sam, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop talking about my wife like that," he said firmly.

"Well, _that_ explains it," Reilly grumbled. Booth rolled his eyes, and he continued, "Anyway, the bullet _was_ a match for the gun that killed Danny's father thirty years ago."

"Right," Booth agreed, happy to move on. "The same gun that was registered to Harris' old boyfriend, Watkins. But it was never found."

"Everyone we interviewed at the time said Harris would never make a move without talking to Watkins first. I told you, we need to find him."

"Yeah, okay. We will, Sam. You just gotta give me some room." Booth moved to leave with Brennan, but Reilly stopped him.

"Booth. Don't cut me out. I've worked my whole career for this," he pled, his angry facade falling away momentarily.

"As soon as I find something out, I'll let you know, Sam," Booth assured him. He patted Reilly's arm and stepped around him. "Come on, Bones," he said, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her from the room.

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"That man is very irritable," she commented once they were in the SUV. They were headed to the victim's former residence to speak with her husband again.

"Yeah, he's been like that for about as long as I've known him. Don't let it get to you."

"He didn't seem to know we were married. Considering the amount of gossip we've been subjected to, it seems somewhat improbable that he was unaware of our relationship."

"Sam mostly keeps to himself," Booth shrugged. "He's a good agent, but he's not one to form close relationships with his co-workers, you know?" Brennan nodded thoughtfully, recalling that she had spent many years in a similar state of solitude. "I'm sorry about what he said though," he added.

"About wanting to assault me or about my sexual prowess?"

"Both," he replied, smiling affectionately at her choice of phrase. They arrived at their destination a short time later, and Jeremy Nash greeted them stiffly. He led them into the living room, and Brennan handed him the photograph Angela had found of June Harris and Neil Watkins.

"I remember seeing a picture of him before," Nash told them. "I was going through some old photographs, cleaning out a closet. Amy said it was an old boyfriend."

"They keep in contact?" Booth asked.

"No. I mean...she would've told me. Why? You don't think that… Did he kill her?" Nash's voice sounded odd, and Booth went with his instincts.

"How long have you known about your wife's real identity?"

"I only found out a few weeks ago," Nash replied.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came from a young woman who had entered the room from behind Booth and Brennan. Brennan immediately recognized her bone structure as that of June Harris' daughter. "What? You didn't think I should know about my own mother?"

"She didn't want me to tell you. She wanted to do it herself."

"Your wife never talked about her past?" Brennan asked. The young woman answered for her father.

"She used to say that only the future was important. All we could do was change the world."

"They didn't agree on how," Nash explained. "Celia was a bit conservative for Amy."

"That never mattered. She wasn't some crazy radical to me. She was my mom," she said tearfully.

"You must've been relieved she got such a great deal," Booth said. Nash seemed confused.

"What deal?"

"She didn't tell you?" Brennan asked.

"She mentioned she was thinking of talking to a federal prosecutor... but I talked her out of it."

"Well, you do know it's a felony, aiding and abetting a fugitive," Booth reminded him.

"You want to charge me? Fine. But saving my family doesn't feel like a crime. Amy was a good mother and a wonderful wife."

Booth asked for permission to look around for anything linking Amy Nash/June Harris to Watkins, and Nash agreed without hesitation, leading his daughter out of the room. Booth called for a team of agents to perform the search. He and Brennan took a quick look around the home, but nothing suspicious caught their attention. They left after the FBI team arrived.

"Zack left a voicemail," Brennan announced as she checked her phone for missed communications. "He says that the victim's gunshot wound was an old injury. Approximately thirty years. Considering the ballistics evidence and the timeframe, it's likely that June Harris was shot during the altercation that culminated in the death of the police officer. There was also particulate evidence embedded in the metacarpals of the right hand. The metals match those found in the shoulder."

"So she was shot through the hand as well as the shoulder?"

"Yes, most likely from the same bullet. Angela's working on a scenario."

"Okay." He glanced at her, gauging her expression and her mood. "You never told me how it went this morning. Seeing your dad again?" He winced as her features tightened, recognizing that she had mentally withdrawn herself from the situation.

"I'd rather not discuss it right now. Let's just…" She shook her head, not wanting to commit to a discussion. "I just want to focus on work right now."

"Alright," Booth agreed quickly. "But I'm here when you're ready to talk about it. You know that, right?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded, giving him a smile of gratitude. It was one of the many things she loved about him; he helped her without pushing. He accepted that she would come around in her own time, and he was patient enough to wait. He let her deal with things without smothering her, but he was always willing to listen, give advice, and offer comfort whenever she needed it. Even at times when she herself didn't _know_ that she needed it. "Thanks, Booth."

"Don't mention it, Bones." He raised her hand to his lips in a familiar gesture and smiled at the comforting feeling of her hand in his… Right where it belonged.

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Angela was able to duplicate June Harris' injuries in a scenario that effectively cleared her of the police officer's murder thirty years prior. She had stepped between Watkins and the cop and raised her hand toward Watkins as if to plead with him not to shoot. The bullet had gone through her hand and into her shoulder. Watkins had killed the elder Officer Valenti.

Hodgins joined them and announced that it seemed Watkins had also made the bomb. The watch used as a detonator had been the same type of watch Watkins had used in past bombings. The face of the watch had depicted an American flag. Cam and Hodgins postulated that June Harris had told him she was planning to turn herself in and that Watkins had killed her to keep her silent. Hodgins said he would work on the air filter from Harris' vehicle in an attempt to find out where she might have found Neil Watkins.

Booth and Brennan picked up some take-out on the way home, both being two exhausted to cook. It had been a long day of confrontations, interrogations, and waiting. When they were nearing the end of their meal, Brennan expelled a heavy sigh and turned the conversation to Max.

"He wanted me to testify on his behalf," she said quietly.

"Max?"

"Yeah. He just wants to use me." Booth frowned, reading the disappointment and suspicion in her features.

"Well… He's a con man, Bones. That doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Maybe he's just looking for a little payback."

"Payback?" she echoed, her eyes narrow with disgust.

"That sounds wrong; I'm sorry. I just meant that he's probably thinking that since he got arrested so that he could spend some more time with you, you could return the favor by doing something nice for him."

"I'm not sure I want a father who's always keeping score."

"I get that… But maybe you are too, just a little. If you guys are ever going to have a decent relationship, you're _both_ going to have to let go of the past. It's the only way forward," he said gently.

"It's a little difficult to do that when he's incarcerated for murder," she huffed angrily. "When he refuses to tell anyone where my brother is, when he killed Peter and then just ran away, when we're investigating the murders of _more_ people he may have killed... I never asked him to do any of that-" Her words broke off with a sob, and Booth rose from his seat to kneel in front of hers.

"I know that, Bones. And we don't know yet if Max was involved in any other deaths, okay? But either way… I know that you would never have asked him to do what he did, and I think he knows it too. But you didn't have to ask. He killed people who were trying to kill _you_. He loves you." Booth lifted a hand to swipe a tear from her cheek.

" _That's_ how he shows his love? By killing people?" she asked in disbelief. Try as she might, she just couldn't wrap her head around it. "How am I supposed to _not_ feel guilty about that? If it weren't for me, those people would still be alive? How can that ever be okay?"

"It's not, baby. It's not okay, but you have absolutely no reason to feel guilty. It's like you said: you didn't ask him to do it. You never would have. All you can do is try to figure out whether or not you can forgive him. It doesn't mean you have to forget what he's done, and it doesn't mean you have to trust him. It certainly doesn't mean you have to testify on his behalf, which I think would be a terrible idea anyway. But maybe there's a middle ground to be found somewhere."

"Meeting halfway," she said tiredly, remembering her father's words from earlier that day.

"Exactly. I think that would be a good idea for both of you. He misses his daughter, and you miss your dad. Not the one who left you and Russ, but the one you grew up with...Matthew Brennan. Somewhere under all of the con artist, bank robber, vigilante stuff, he's still in there. He's still your dad. Maybe he's got an...unusual way of showing it, but he loves you."

Brennan took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She recalled the pain of not knowing what had happened to her parents and compared it with the emotional upheaval she had experienced since learning the truth. She wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't been better off before, and that uncertainty confused her even more. She had always thirsted for knowledge, for more information. Now she found herself wishing that she'd remained oblivious, and she was frustrated with herself for that weakness.

As she lay in bed that evening, chasing sleep, she replayed Booth's words in her mind. He'd been right when he'd said that she missed the father who had raised her. That man was not Max Keenan. She didn't know or trust Max Keenan, and at the moment, she wasn't sure she ever could. Logically, she knew that Max Keenan and Matthew Brennan were the same person, but she could appreciate the perspective Booth had given her. Max Keenan might be a thief and a murderer, but Matthew Brennan was 'Dad.'

The issue of how to reconcile the two of them in her mind plagued her long into the night, and she woke the next morning with only one conclusion. Ignoring the problem would never solve it. She would have to see him again.

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 **So how are we feeling about Max? :) Personally, I always felt that the show didn't devote enough attention to Brennan's process when it came to forgiving Max. In less than one season, she went from not being able to touch him to putting her reputation on the line to save his life. It was such a big thing for her, and I plan on delving into it in much more detail. Of course, my Brennan will have other things to consider as well. :)**

 **Thanks for reading! Review if you have a sec. See you Saturday!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to the guest who reviewed to remind me it was Saturday. I've had a long day, and I really overdid it. Time just got away from me. It's still Saturday where I am though. Sorry for the wait.**

 **You may notice in this chapter that I had to work a little extra at making Booth less of a douche. It's been a recurrent issue as I've been writing this story. I don't know why they wrote him like that in S3, but seriously... Some episodes it seemed like every time he opened his mouth, he talked out of his ass instead. Well, not MY Booth. ;)**

 **Enjoy!**

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Chapter 5

"So Hodgins worked his magic, and he's sure we're headed to the right place?"

"It's not _magic_ , Booth. It's _science_. He discovered two specific pollens that are only found-"

"Okay, right, yeah… Sorry. _Science_." Booth shifted in the driver's seat to pull his buzzing phone from his pocket and read an incoming text from Agent Reilly. "Sam's gonna meet us there," he told Brennan.

"You told him? He's too emotional," Brennan argued, concerned over the potential confrontation that could be awaiting them in Virginia.

"This is his case. He's invested."

"He's irrational. Probably male menopause."

"What?" Booth bristled predictably. "He's a good man, and you know what? There's no such thing. That's just a myth."

"Factually, hormone production drops in your fifties. Sexual desire decreases. You have to deal with the reduction of muscle mass, erectile dysfunction-"

"Hey, alright," he interrupted her, flustered. "Let's just keep the conversation _up_ , shall we?" Brennan was not to be deterred. Getting her husband riled, particularly about things like this, had become one of her favorite kinds of entertainment.

" _And_ there's evidence that certain men become very unstable."

"Do I need to pull over somewhere and remind you just how _functional_ I am?"

"We don't really have time for that," she grinned. He huffed irritably. "You're very testy."

"And thirty-five. I'm only _thirty-five_."

"Almost thirty-six, technically." She smiled wider when he frowned at her. "Okay, okay," she acquiesced, letting him self-sooth in silence for a few minutes before changing the subject. "Speaking of birthdays, what would you like to do for yours? It's coming up soon."

"Yeah, but _yours_ comes first," he reminded her, smiling now. "I've already started the plans."

"Do I get to know them beforehand this time?"

"Hmmm… I'll think about it. Right now, I'm going with _no._ "

Brennan rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to their surroundings. She realized that they were nearing Watkins' home, and she shifted her thoughts back to their case. When Booth pulled to a stop outside of a small house in a wooded area, she noted the immediate change in his demeanor.

"No… I don't like this; it's too quiet," Booth said, drawing his gun and keeping it at waist-level. Brennan followed behind him as he approached the front door and retrieved her own firearm from her bag. This was still an area of contention between them, but Booth couldn't argue that his wife was a reasonably skilled marksman. She had passed a Bureau-standard marksmanship test several months prior, and since she had a concealed weapon permit, he had decided to let it go. For the most part.

"Gee, why didn't you bring the big one?" he asked, noting that she'd left her .50 caliber at home. His sarcastic tone earned him an eye roll. They entered the home cautiously, and Brennan quickly spotted something on the floor in the living room. She started to move ahead of Booth to investigate, but he gently pulled her back behind him, whispering her nickname in admonition.

What had caught Brennan's eye turned out to be the prone form of Neil Watkins. He was lying on his living room rug with a bullet wound in his head and a gun in his left hand. Agent Reilly was standing over his body and turned immediately toward them when they entered the room. He aimed his weapon directly at Booth.

"Easy, Sam. Put the gun down, and step away from the body." Both he and Brennan had their guns trained on Reilly, and the trio stood in a tense standoff for several moments before Reilly placed his weapon on the arm of the sofa between them. He drew their attention to the gun in Watkins' hand and insisted that the man had clearly done this to himself. Booth was inclined to agree, but it didn't change the fact that the way they'd discovered Reilly at the scene made him a suspect. Judging by the resigned expression on the older man's face, Booth knew that Reilly understood his position perfectly.

Brennan returned to the lab with Watkins' body so that Cam could perform an autopsy. Cam told her that the bullet in Watkins' head matched the weapon that was found in his hand. Trajectory also indicated that the shot could have been self-inflicted, but she added the caveat that it still could have been staged.

Brennan found evidence of rheumatoid arthritis on the x-rays of Watkins' hands, and she concluded that Watkins wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger. Zack pointed out that if that were the case, the man wouldn't have had the dexterity to assemble the bomb either.

"There's one man who knew exactly how Neil made his bombs," Cam observed. Brennan nodded, following her train of thought.

"The same man who worked the case for thirty years. I'll call Booth."

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Although Booth advised Agent Reilly to get a lawyer, he didn't end up needing one. With further examination of the watch used as a detonator, Hodgins discovered a thumbprint on the battery. The casing had protected it from the blast, and he was able to pull the print. It belonged to Jeremy Nash.

When Booth and Brennan returned to the Nash residence to make the arrest, Jeremy and his daughter were dressed for his wife's funeral and greeted them on the front step. The letter Angela had been working to reconstruct had turned out to be addressed to Celia Nash, rather than Neil Watkins as the team had originally suspected. June Harris had written to her daughter, pleading for her forgiveness and explaining why she had decided to turn herself into the FBI.

Brennan couldn't help but be reminded of her own mother's last message to the daughter she had ultimately decided to leave behind. She hoped that Celia might eventually find a similar comfort from the letter her mother had left for her. As Booth read Jeremy Nash his rights and guided him into the back seat of a police cruiser, Brennan sat on a garden bench with her arm around Celia. To her surprise, the young woman collapsed against her, sobbing into Brennan's jacket. She instinctively wrapped her arms around Celia's shoulders and held her as she cried. Celia wasn't that much older than Brennan had been when her parents had vanished from her life, and she was now every bit as alone. Her mother was dead; her father would be in jail.

Booth watched his wife comfort Celia with a mixture of sympathy and pride. He knew that Brennan still believed herself to be a 'brain person' as opposed to a 'heart person,' but it was times like this that proved her overwhelmingly wrong on the subject. Her heart was every bit as big as his own, even if she occasionally needed his help to understand it.

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While Brennan returned to the prison for another visit with her father, Booth went back to his office to start on the paperwork that always came with closing a case. They agreed to meet up later, but neither of them anticipated Agent Reilly's appearance in Booth's office doorway...holding a bottle of scotch.

The two men spent a couple of hours toasting to 'the changing of the guard,' and by the time Booth left the Hoover to meet up with his wife, he realized that he would need to call a cab in order to get there. Booth asked the driver to drop him off on the Mall, hoping that he might be able to walk off a bit of his intoxication. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that their favorite coffee cart was still open despite the lateness of the hour. Brennan found him a short while later on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

"How much scotch did you drink?" she asked, watching as he flapped the lid of his styrofoam cup and made noises as if it were speaking to him.

"Oh, just enough. You know, I would've invited you, but Reilly… He just… Wow, he really doesn't like you."

"I understand," she replied, biting back a smile.

"I'm sorry, was that rude?" he asked, squinting at her slightly.

"Not from someone who's been drinking." He grinned drunkenly at her and turned to look across the Reflecting Pool to the Washington Monument. The obelisk was lit up against the night sky, and Booth sighed contentedly.

"God, you know, I love this place. I love it. I _love_ this country… You know, I'll tell you something… If I had been working law enforcement back in the day, when they threw all that tea in the harbor? I'm good, alright? I'm good. I would've rounded everybody up, and we'd _still_ be English." He lifted his coffee cup into the air as if to toast King George.

"You think?"

"Yup. Yup, definitely." Booth sighed again and sipped his coffee. "How'd it go with your dad? Did you get to see him? It's not exactly visiting hours."

"I did. It went alright, I guess. You were right-"

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately. I like it," he interrupted, giving her a lopsided charm smile. She chuckled and encouraged him to drink more coffee before she continued.

"As an anthropologist, I accept change as the natural order of things. But with him, I didn't allow for transformation. I predicated his behavior on a set of outmoded preconceptions. It wasn't rational."

"Wow," he sighed, swaying a little as he gazed back at her. "I… I didn't get any of that."

"I was judging him based on the memory of Matthew Brennan. Like you said, it's sort of like they're two different people, at least in my mind. When I was growing up, I didn't know that he was Max Keenan. I didn't know any of the things he'd _done_ as Max Keenan. Once I learned who he was, it didn't make sense to me how he could be both at the same time. It's like you and Parker," she elaborated when he still looked lost. "You're a father and an FBI agent. He doesn't really know the kinds of things you do as an FBI agent, and you don't behave like one when he's around… But you're always both. If I were conducting an objective experiment on my father, observing his behavior…I'd have to conclude that he loves me."

"Hmm. Why? What happened?" Booth had managed to follow her logic for the most part, but he knew that Max had to have said or done something to bring about this change. She'd been struggling with the concept for years. Even if she hadn't found it in her to forgive him yet, this was still a huge step in the right direction.

"We played cards," she replied with a smile. Though it wasn't at all the response he'd been expecting, Booth couldn't help but grin back at her.

"Cool."

"I killed him."

"Good for you," he congratulated her. Booth couldn't suppress an appreciative chuckle at her proper use of the colloquialism, but it came out sounding more like a drunken giggle. He laid his head in her lap looked up at her with unfocused eyes.

"You're _really_ drunk," she teased him. "We should go home." Booth flashed his pearly whites and snuggled happily into her breasts.

"Already? Because, you know… We've never really had sex in public." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she shook her head, still smiling.

"You're far too intoxicated for that, Booth. Come on. Let's go home." She gently pushed him back into a sitting position and stood up, offering her hands to help him stand as well. He swayed on his feet, and she wrapped an arm around his waist as they made their way toward her car. "You're rather tactile when your cognitive functions are impaired," she noted as she felt his fingers slip beneath the back of her waistband.

"Baby, when you're around, I'm _always_ tactile."

She couldn't deny the truth of that statement. It did seem that he was always finding ways to touch her. By the time they reached her car, his hand was completely inside of her jeans, squeezing her ass appreciatively. She extracted it patiently and settled him into the passenger seat.

"We gonna do it in the car?" he asked hopefully. She laughed and shut the door. When she climbed into the driver's seat and started the car, his persistent hand quickly took up residence between her thighs.

"Booth," she admonished, removing his hand as she pulled into traffic. "Let's just get home, okay?" He lasted roughly thirty seconds before his hand was wandering once again, and eventually Brennan gave up trying to dissuade him. "You don't feel sick, do you?"

"Nope. Why?" he asked her breasts.

"Because you've succeeded in arousing me, and vomit would most certainly ruin the mood."

"Ah, you're _aroused_ , are you?" he grinned wickedly. "Good thing I'm a _fully functioning_ thirty-five-year-old man, huh?"

Brennan smirked at him and pulled into the garage. Getting Booth out of the car went much the same as getting him into it, and he began to remove his clothes before she had even closed the door. He left them in a trail as he followed her to the refrigerator.

"Drink this," she instructed, handing him a glass of water.

"I'm not really thirsty. I'm _hungry,_ but not for food…" His mouth sought her neck, and she held him off with difficulty.

"Alcohol dehydrates the body. Water will help flush the toxins from your system," she explained, forcing the glass into his hand. He looked at it, and then at her, in drunken confusion. "It'll sober you up faster. Drink it."

He did as he was told and placed the glass on the counter, freeing his hands once again. He promptly divested her of her jacket, shirt, and bra, and his lips devoured her breasts hungrily. She gasped as he pulled her nipple somewhat roughly into his mouth, and his hands continued the task of removing her clothing. Brennan groaned and thrust her fingers into his hair.

"Let's go upstairs," she suggested, prodding him gently in the direction of the staircase. She had a feeling that he wouldn't be conscious for long once he found his release. His hard length pressed against the apex of her thighs, and she stroked him slowly as they made their way to the bedroom.

In light of his inebriated state, Brennan had expected to do the majority of the 'work.' However, Booth surprised her by taking charge once they reached the bed. He seized her lips with his own and kissed her deeply as he guided her body to the mattress, moaning into her mouth when he felt her wet heat against him. His fingertips caressed her center, and he smiled against her lips when he found her readiness.

"Now, Booth," she begged, arching upward into his body. "Please."

He kissed her again and entered her swiftly, slipping his tongue into her mouth at the same time. Booth gasped as he felt her clench around him so tightly that it was almost difficult to withdraw.

"Jesus, Bones." His jaw was clenched in determination to hold off on his orgasm until she reached hers. They moved as one, climbing slowly together. Brennan wrapped her legs around his hips, but he quickly readjusted to push them toward her chest, filling her completely as his fingertips sought the bundle of nerves that would send her over the edge. She shouted with her release and came hard around him, clinging to his upper arms as the tremors rocked through her body.

"Come with me," she pled, her words somewhat disjointed by her trembling. He erupted within her, and the pulsating sensation nearly pushed Brennan to the brink a second time. They collapsed in a heap, panting with exhaustion as their hearts slowed to a reasonable pace. Brennan moved her hands in soothing circles over his back, and he grunted in appreciation when he felt her aftershocks spasming around him. "You okay?"

"Mmhmm," he groaned into her neck. Coherency seemed beyond him at the moment.

"You should get some sleep. You're probably not going to feel well in the morning," she reminded him. Booth nodded and withdrew from her body with a little sigh of regret.

"I don't feel as drunk anymore."

"Yes, well that's probably because exercise is another means of sobering up," she laughed, helping him straighten out their disheveled blankets.

"Hmm. So you didn't really take advantage of me, huh?"

"Of course not," she replied, a little indignant. "I believe you were the one with your hands in my pants most of the way home. If anything, it was the other way around."

"Guilty as charged," he agreed. His cheshire grin relaxed into an expression of complete adoration. "I love you, Bones."

"I love you too."

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A few days before Brennan's thirty-first birthday, she and Booth were called to a crime scene in Virginia. The remains had been discovered by a group of Boy Scouts on a camping trip. Although the body was still in the early stages of decomposition and would mostly be handled by Cam, the victim's feet had been removed post-mortem, which led Cam to request Brennan's input as well. The feet were found buried a short distance away from the body, and cause of death appeared to be a penetrating wound to the forehead. Compounding the already odd circumstances was the presence of a white substance coating the victim's nose and mouth.

As Cam and Brennan worked together on the platform, they were unexpectedly interrupted by Hodgins, who announced at random that Angela had plans to be hypnotized the following day. They still hadn't managed to track down Angela's missing husband, and Hodgins had come up with the idea of hypnosis in attempt to recall the man's full name.

"I thought you had a name?" Cam asked, keeping her eyes on the remains rather than her employee. Before Hodgins could clarify, Booth swiped his way onto the platform clutching a casefile in his hands.

"A name for what?" he interjected.

"Angela's husband," Cam replied.

"Berimbau," Hodgins answered. "But our private investigator says it's a nickname."

"Well, you can't get much off a nickname," Booth shrugged.

"A berimbau is a little flute. Brazilian," Brennan informed them. Cam and Hodgins tried unsuccessfully to suppress their smiles, and Booth lifted his brow somewhat incredulously. "What?"

"A little flute?" Booth asked quietly, unsure of whether to be amused or feel pity for the unknown man. Hodgins, meanwhile, was now smirking with satisfaction.

"I'm suddenly filled with a sense of… well-being," he grinned. Brennan didn't understand his behavior but felt compelled to point out that the efficacy and validity of recovered memories was still controversial. Booth turned the conversation back to the case and explained that the victim's prints had given him an ID.

"Ed Milner, from Maryland," he announced, showing Brennan the man's picture.

"The shiny substance you found on the victim's nose and mouth? It's sunscreen. Per the manufacturer, it protects and maintains the color of coats, manes, and tails," Hodgins announced.

Brennan asked if the product had any human application, but he replied that the manufacturer specifically recommended _against_ it. Cam interrupted their conversation to report that the victim's stomach contents were comprised of corn, raw oats, and dried molasses.

"Alright, I can draw inferences from multiple equine implications," Brennan said, almost as if speaking to herself. She picked up the remote for one of the large monitors and pulled up an enlarged x-ray image of the victim's skull. "Incised wounds extending to the periosteum of the maxilla between the molars and pre-molars," she explained, manipulating the victim's jaw to show Cam the wounds. Cam understood, but Hodgins and Booth were still missing the point.

"What?"

"His teeth and jaw show evidence of a _bit_ ," Brennan clarified. To her surprise, Hodgins began to laugh.

"His name is Ed," he explained, still chuckling. Cam and Booth joined in with laughter of their own, but Brennan was still lost.

"Why is that funny?"

"As in… ' _A horse is a horse,'"_ Cam told her. Booth and Hodgins provided the next line in unison with her. "' _Of course, of course.'"_ Brennan's expression showed no sign of recognition, and Booth sighed.

"The famous Mr. Ed?"

When she still looked blank, he promised to show her a clip of the old television show online when they got home. It was still another half hour before Brennan agreed to leave the lab, and Booth knew that they would be feeling their late night the following day. The sun had already sunk below the horizon when they'd arrived at the crime scene, and it was well past midnight when they finally made it home.

Booth found a short video of the theme song they'd been singing in the lab as well as a ten-minute clip of the show. Brennan found the theme song amusing, not to mention the odd coincidence of their victim's name, but she looked slightly concerned as she watched the short portion of the show.

"People didn't actually believe he was talking, right?"

"No, Bones. It was just supposed to be funny. I'm not sure how they got his lips to move like that though."

"That wouldn't have been difficult. They most likely would've put something in his mouth to irritate him into moving his lips, and eventually a trainer could've taught him to do it with some sort of command."

"That makes sense," he nodded, smiling at her as he closed the laptop and put it away. They'd been together for nearly two years, and Booth had taken the time to introduce her to a lot of pop culture that tended to come up in conversation. He knew that she didn't like to feel ignorant in front of others, even if it were in regards to something as meaningless as a television theme song. As he lay in bed that evening, holding her close while she slept, Booth realized that she rarely uttered her trademark, ' _I don't know what that means,'_ anymore. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time she'd said it.

Although he was proud of how much she had learned, he found himself missing the sound of those words on her lips. After their first case, the habitual response had been a source of annoyance for him, but even back then he admired her for it. She was arguably the smartest person he had ever or _would ever_ meet, but she'd never been too proud to admit that she didn't know something. That kind of humility was a rare trait, and he had always admired her for it.

Booth smiled into the darkness and pressed his lips to Brennan's forehead once more before sleep claimed him.

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Booth met with Ed Milner's wife in his office the following morning. Although she was able to give a positive ID from a photograph of the remains, she seemed to have no idea why Booth was asking her questions about horses. She stated that she wasn't sure her husband had ever even seen a horse in person. She had been under the false impression that Ed was in Florida at a work conference, and she insisted that her husband was well-loved by everyone who knew him. Booth tracked the victim's last credit card purchase to a country inn in Virginia and headed to the lab to pick up Brennan.

"Hey," he greeted her as he strolled into her office.

" _Hay_ is for horses," she replied with a proud smile. Booth couldn't help but return it, regardless of the bad joke.

"Hey, that's funny, Bones."

"I found it on this website about horses. Where do horses stay in a hotel?"

"Bridal suite," he answered after a brief moment's thought. She looked slightly surprised and a little disappointed.

"That's correct."

"Yup. So did you find anything useful?"

"The hooves of champion thoroughbreds are buried separately from the corpses. The hooves represent power and are given their own resting spot. Our victim's feet were severed from his body," she reminded him.

"Well, the victim's wife said he was at a corporate retreat, and his boss said he took time off to spend with his family."

"He lied," Brennan surmised.

"Yeah, they could _all_ be lying," he agreed. "I got his last known location from his credit card records. Want to come?"

"Sure," she nodded, rising from her seat to collect her things. "How did you know the answer to the bridal suite joke?"

"Parker," he grinned. "He'd probably like whatever other jokes you found on there."

"Maybe we should get him a joke book, now that he's reading so well."

"That's a great idea," Booth said, smiling at her. He loved that his wife and son got along so well. If Brennan wasn't around for whatever reason when Parker was with him, Parker would immediately ask where she was. During the times that Parker was with Rebecca, Brennan still brought his name into their conversations as often as she might if they had full custody of him. He was clearly in her thoughts often, and when it came to planning things in their lives, she was always conscious of what accommodations might need to be made for a young boy.

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The victim's last known location turned out to be the Ambassadora Bed and Breakfast, and the proprietor introduced himself as Lucky. He didn't confirm or deny that he recognized a photo of Ed Milner. Lucky acted as though he didn't believe that Booth was truly an FBI agent, and by the third time Booth had to show his badge, Brennan was annoyed.

"Sir, why are you being so difficult?"

"Not difficult. _Discreet._ "

"What do you do? Run a service for cheating husbands?" Booth asked. Brennan leaned over to speak into her husband's ear, still loudly enough that Lucky would hear.

"Call in the SWAT team. They're anything but discreet."

"Okay!" Lucky said quickly, looking alarmed. "Okay. That's Mr. Ed."

"' _A horse is a horse, of course, of course?'"_ Brennan replied, her tone slightly mocking.

"That's the general idea, yes." Lucky hesitated briefly but asked them to follow him into a deserted lounge area, away from potential eavesdroppers. "The Ambassadora is a place where people come to indulge in pony-play fantasy twenty-four hours a day, without fear of judgment. Mr. Ed is a pony." He handed Brennan one of the brochures she had seen on the front counter. The title read _Equine Excitement_.

"Is this some kind of a sex thing?" Booth asked her.

"How'd you get there so quickly?"

"The man said 'fantasy.' I just made the leap."

"Ed took off a couple of days ago," Lucky added. "Which was odd, since he'd prepaid."

"Prepaid for what?"

"Oh, we're uh… We're in the middle of what you might call our convention. So unless this is really important, I'd rather not disturb our guests."

"Well, two miles from here, in the woods, Mr. Ed was found dead," Booth explained.

Lucky looked disturbed and reluctantly led them into another area of the inn. There were a dozen or so people entering the room from an opposite doorway. Most were paired off with opposite sex partners, and all were in some sort of costume. Some were dressed in revealing, bondage-type ensembles that resembled horse costumes. Their counterparts were dressed as grooms or jockeys. The 'ponies' were led to a long food trough to eat what appeared to be a similar meal to the one Cam had found in Ed Milner's stomach, and their dominant counterparts seated themselves at a table to eat their meal.

"Wow, what's going on in here?" Booth mused.

"It's a fetish." Brennan's tone was smug as well as intrigued. As an anthropologist, she had studied sexual fetishes in the course of earning her doctorates, and the scene playing out before them was by far one of the least provocative things she'd witnessed. She also knew without a doubt that her husband was uncomfortable and a little embarrassed, and a flustered Booth was always good entertainment.

"Uh, so the idea here is that one of them is the horse, and the other one is the rider?" Booth asked, trying to look anywhere but at the scantily clad people having their lunch.

"Basically," Lucky answered.

"Well, this isn't about the horses," Brennan elaborated. "It's about a dominant versus submissive balance of power. A variation on sado-masochism."

"Those people are eating from troughs," Booth said awkwardly, leaning toward Brennan. "Do you think that's _sexy_?" His voice cracked a little on the word 'sexy,' and Brennan bit back a smile.

"This type of fetishism is a way of indulging in sexual activity without actually engaging emotionally with the other person as a fully formed human being."

"Okay, sex is _all_ about engaging," Booth disagreed, momentarily forgetting that Lucky was standing right next to them. "If you don't want to engage, you just stay home and… you know."

"Well, there are masturbation fetishes. Often involving women's shoes or undergarments-" Booth interrupted her before she launched into what he suspected would be a very long and detailed lesson on BDSM.

"Uh, can we just talk to Mr. Ed's mistress...dominatrix...whatever?"

Lucky replied that he would have to ask the person's permission to 'out them,' but Brennan made short work of it by loudly requesting that Mr. Ed's last rider reveal themselves and speak with them. Booth flashed his badge, and a young woman rose from the table. She was petite with dark blonde hair, and her expression was resigned. She led Booth and Brennan out of the building into an open courtyard.

"My name in the world is Anne Marie Ostenback. Here, I'm Annie Oakley," she introduced herself. "So Mr. Ed is dead?"

"Yes. How well did you know him?" Brennan asked.

"We met online over a year ago. We were a match. I mean, compatible in every way. You have no idea how hard it is to find the perfect pony. Mr. Ed was easy to handle, but he wasn't mindlessly obedient. And yes, we had sex, if that's your next question." She glowered at Booth, easily sensing his attitude toward her lifestyle.

"When did you first meet in person so that you could...um, ride him?" he asked awkwardly.

"Six months ago. I fell in love with him."

"Meaning what? A little light whipping?" Booth guessed, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Anne rolled her eyes.

"When I say love, I don't mean romantically. I mean the way a young girl feels about her first pony."

"Have you ever heard of any of the ponies fighting one another?" Brennan asked.

"No. No, pony play is not like that," she replied. Brennan disagreed but held her silence for the moment. What she knew of the BDSM community and of human nature in general led her to believe that at least _some_ jealousy among the submissive participants would be unavoidable.

"Mr. Ed's body was found only a few miles from here," Booth told her.

"Evidence on the body suggested an equine fetish."

"You should talk to his wife," Anne suggested.

"His wife?"

"Yes, she showed up here, and the next morning, Ed was gone," she explained. "The night Ed took off, I was in the stables with him. I'd worked him hard that day and was rubbing him down. Which is when she caught us."

"Did you know he was married?" Brennan asked, imagining the scene Anne had described. It was aftercare, which was commonly practiced in the BDSM lifestyle, but to Ed's wife, it might have looked like something else entirely.

"I didn't want to marry the man. I just wanted to play with the pony."

"How did he react when he saw his wife?" Booth asked, not missing the fact that she hadn't answered Brennan's question. Anne shrugged in response. She explained that Mr. Ed had stayed in character the entire time, even after his wife had walked away. Anne had gone to bed alone afterward, and Mr. Ed was gone the following morning.

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"What's worse?" Booth asked her as they headed back to DC. "Finding out that your spouse is having an affair, or finding out that he has a secret life as a pony?"

"Pony fetishism has been around since the Greeks."

"Had to have been the wife, right?" he pressed. _Can we please skip the anthropology lesson?_

"Aristotle extolled the joys of being ridden like a horse."

"Aristotle also thought that the purpose of the human heart was to solve math problems."

"I'm surprised you know that," she said honestly.

"Well, it turns out, I'm smarter than a fifth grader," he replied with a wink. Brennan huffed a tiny laugh but was not deterred.

"In Victorian England, scantily-clad women put on erotic shows dressed as ponies."

"Just saying… A wife sees some woman in a harness rubbing her husband down while he's nibbling on oats? That's harsh."

" _And_ in sixteenth century Turkey, the king kept stables of pony-girls and pony-boys for his pleasure," she rattled on.

"Okay, the king of Turkey was a freak."

"Why are you being so judgmental?" she frowned. She knew that speaking openly of sex often made her husband uncomfortable unless it was just the two of them, but he had never struck her as a judgmental person.

"When you turn someone into an object of sexual pleasure, it's wrong," he argued.

"How do you know?"

"It says so in the Bible."

"It does not!" she insisted, chuckling in spite of herself.

"Then it got left out by mistake," he grinned. She rolled her eyes.

"We are all hard-wired differently. If someone needs to shout 'Giddy Up' to heighten arousal, what's wrong with that?"

"Maybe if Ed had lived like a man, he wouldn't have died like a horse," Booth pointed out. "Besides, I thought you said it was all about domination and submission and all that."

"I did say that. And I'll remind you that you didn't mind being bossed around a little when your hands were injured. You don't mind bossing me around in bed now and then either," she teased him. "That's a form of domination and submission, even if we don't use toys or props."

"Bones, taking charge of the action once in a while is completely different than having sex with someone who's pretending to be a _horse_."

"I agree that it's different, but it all falls under the same sort of attraction. It's about control."

"I disagree," he said stubbornly, shaking his head.

"Oh really?" Brennan challenged. At any other time, she might've let the issue go, but his attitude had gotten under her skin. She wasn't angry with him, but she wasn't about to pass on the opportunity to prove her point. She allowed her hand to creep sneakily onto his lap, brushing against his inseam. His body responded immediately.

"What are you doing?" His eyes were wide, and his grip on the steering wheel had tightened considerably.

"So if I were to touch you while you're driving…unable to stop me or to focus on controlling your body's response…? You wouldn't enjoy that?" She lowered his zipper with a smirk. "Because this tells me otherwise."

Booth groaned as she freed him from his pants. He swallowed thickly and tried to come up with an appropriate argument. He toyed with the idea of pulling over somewhere, but they were on a busy interstate. The last thing he needed was for a state cop to discover him getting a handjob in the front seat of his FBI-issued vehicle. He had a pretty good idea how _that_ conversation with Cullen would go.

"Bones," he gasped as her hand began to work him rhythmically. "I'm driving."

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, her tone daring him to do so. He didn't. He _couldn't_.

After several minutes, he stammered a warning that he was nearing the edge, and her actions shocked him yet again. Rather than retrieve a napkin from the glove box, she leaned over the center console and took him in her mouth, sucking hard until he came hard down the back of her throat. He panted heavily as he settled down, glancing incredulously back and forth between the road and her smug expression.

"You were saying?"

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 **Thanks for reading! Review if you have a sec; it really does motivate me. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again! As always, thank you for your wonderful feedback on this story. It really keeps me going! In this chapter, we'll finish up the Mr. Ed case and see what Booth has in store for Brennan's birthday. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 6

As they drove to the Hoover together the following morning, Booth wondered if the front seat of his SUV, much like the desk in Brennan's office, would ever feel the same as before. The memory of his wife's actions the day before was fresh in his mind, resulting in an uncomfortable bulge in his pants. The way she was dressed that morning certainly didn't help matters. She had opted for one of her favorite blazers layered over a low-cut white blouse. The pendant she wore around her neck drew the eye directly to her cleavage, and he couldn't seem to stop looking at it. Though Brennan was well aware of his dilemma, she didn't let on, choosing instead to behave as though the tent in his dress pants was nothing out of the ordinary. Booth had to admit, at least to himself, that when it came to working with her, it really _wasn't_ that out of the ordinary at all.

Booth managed to get himself under control by the time they stepped off the elevator onto his floor, and Charlie informed them that Mrs. Milner was waiting for them in the interrogation room. When confronted about the fact that she had lied to Booth the previous day, Mrs. Milner admitted her deceit and explained that she had done so out of embarrassment and a desire for privacy. She was ashamed of her husband's actions. She went on to say that she had received a call from an anonymous man with an accent who told her that her husband was having an affair. The man told her where to find Ed, and when she arrived, she found him in a stable behaving like a horse.

Mrs. Milner claimed not to have had any knowledge of her husband's fetish until she'd seen it with her own eyes. She'd left the stable, driven home, and retained a divorce attorney that very evening. Booth hadn't ruled her out as a suspect, but Brennan insisted that the woman was most likely innocent.

"Why? Because of the lawyer-alibi thing?"

"No, because of the feet-cut-off thing. It was ritualistic. The killer knew about horses." They continued the conversation as they made their way through the bullpen.

"Or maybe she started cutting him into little bits to scatter across the countryside, and it was too much work for her. Or maybe it made her sick… Or he wouldn't fit in the trunk..." He grinned, knowingly pressing her buttons.

"Booth, we are immersed in a culture here."

"Pony-play is a _culture?"_

"Anthropologically speaking," Brennan nodded. Booth's smile widened at the sound of her _other_ trademark phrase. "And not just because of the feet. Ed's hands were tied together. Historically, ranchers bound the front two legs of horses to prevent them from straying. Not to mention all the other equine attributes associated with this case. The bit, the sunscreen, the food he ate… Yes, this is a culture, and we need to investigate accordingly."

They arrived at the elevator and both reached to press the button at the same time. When the doors opened, Booth was pleased to see that they wouldn't be sharing the space with any of his co-workers.

"Do you still think she did it?" Brennan asked.

"Nah, I didn't really anyway," he answered, his eyes twinkling mischievously at her.

"Then why did you make me go through all of that?"

"For fun," he shrugged. " _Sometimes_ your squint-talk is pretty hot, even if I don't understand half of what you're saying."

Brennan fought the smile that threatened her features and rolled her eyes. She knew that he liked to agitate her every bit as much as she enjoyed messing with him. Considering how far she'd gone to prove her point during their last verbal sparring session, she knew he would be trying to gain back a little ground in whatever way he could. The thought made her smile with anticipation.

"You know, a fixation with female breasts could be considered a fetish," she commented, after noticing the downward direction of his gaze yet again. "You've certainly been looking at mine quite a bit today."

"In case you haven't noticed, Bones, just about _everyone_ is looking at them today," he replied as they exited the elevator into the main lobby. Almost as if to prove his point, another agent did a double take at her chest before entering the elevator. Booth glared at him reflexively.

"Come on," she sighed, pulling him out of his stare-down. "Let's go track down the mystery caller."

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When they entered the courtyard at the Ambassadora, they encountered a scene that didn't make Booth any more comfortable than he'd been the day before. Rather than interrupting 'feeding time,' however, they seemed to have come upon a 'horse show' of sorts. The 'ponies' were being led by their 'riders' in a large circle, and everyone was making exaggerated movements of showmanship. Brennan explained that their posturing was a kind of sexual signal.

"Who _are_ these people?" Booth wondered aloud.

"In real life, they tend to be very orthodox. They could be doctors, lawyers… FBI guys," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. Booth laughed nervously.

"This is _not_ normal, okay? It's…"

"It's _what_ , Booth?" Her gaze was challenging, and though he knew better, he couldn't stop himself from asking the question that arose in his mind.

"You're not interested in...uh…?"

"Pony-play?" she smiled widely at the flush that was coloring his cheeks. "No, but I'm the first to admit that in sexual situations, I have indulged in...role-playing. _We_ have indulged-"

"Hey there! Any leads?" Lucky interrupted. Booth was tempted to thank him for it. Brennan explained to the proprietor that they were looking for any ponies or riders that might have an accent. Lucky pointed them in the direction of a male pony that was being led by none other than Annie Oakley. As Lucky walked away, Brennan continued her prior train of thought.

"We _all_ indulge in role-playing in sexual situations, Booth."

"Oh, not me," he denied. Brennan's mouth dropped open slightly, but before she could respond, Booth was addressing Annie Oakley. Once she had released 'Thor' from his pony persona, he agreed to speak with them. His real name was Calvin Johnson, and at first he denied knowing Mr. Ed on a personal basis. It wasn't until Brennan bluffed on the existence of a voice recording that Calvin admitted to being the one to call Mrs. Milner. He insisted that Annie Oakley wasn't worth killing over, but he refused to say much more than that.

"Lunch later?" Booth asked when he pulled the SUV to a stop at the Jeffersonian.

"Sure," she replied easily. She leaned over to kiss him goodbye and climbed out of the vehicle. They had spent the ride back from the Ambassadora discussing the case, and she hadn't had the opportunity to return to their conversation about role-playing. Hoping that she would remember to bring it up later when they were alone again, she made her way to the lab and was stopped by Zack and Hodgins almost as soon as she walked through the sliding doors. They were each holding a cantaloupe.

"The murder weapon was a hoof knife," Hodgins said proudly.

"Directly to the temporal bone," Zack agreed.

"Also, the twine that was wrapped around Mr. Ed's hands was a very unique kind of twine. I was able to trace it through vendor records to the Ambassadora. Maybe Booth should take a closer look at the owner."

"Good work, both of you. Thanks."

Zack and Hodgins bumped fists and walked away. Brennan's attention was drawn toward Angela's office by what sounded like meditation music. When she opened the door, she found Angela in a lotus pose on the floor in front of her sofa. Several candles were burning, and the music she'd chosen was clearly intended to soothe.

Angela complained that the hypnotist she had seen that morning had failed to help her retrieve the memory of her husband's name. Angela was clearly flustered, but Brennan had no idea how to calm her. She was due to return to the hypnotist's office that afternoon to try again, and Brennan wished her luck.

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Booth returned to the lab with lunch a short while later, and he agreed with Hodgins that interrogating Lucky was probably the next step. He told Brennan he would let her know how it went and took the evidence bag containing the twine with him when he left. Lucky admitted that he used that particular twine to bale hay, but he didn't know who might've used it to bind Mr. Ed's hands.

In the course of their discussion, it was revealed that Lucky had been married to Anne Marie Ostenback. They had owned the Ambassadora together, but he had paid her off in the divorce. Booth threatened him with a warrant that would allow the FBI to search his property for a hoof knife, and Lucky admitted that he did own one. He also claimed that it was stolen out of his truck four days prior. He suspected one of his rider clients had taken it. The man's name was Tom Mularz, and he worked as a butcher. Lucky had caught him handing out fliers that advocated the consumption of horsemeat, and he had confiscated the fliers. He put them in his truck, and Mularz had then broken into the vehicle to take them back. The hoof knife had gone missing at the same time.

Booth wasn't entirely sure that Lucky wasn't attempting to divert him from his own guilt, but he didn't have enough to detain the man. He picked up Brennan on the way to Tom Mularz' butcher shop.

"Zack and Hodgins determined that the murder weapon was also used to sever the victim's feet," she told him.

"The killer used a short little knife like that to cut the feet off? Wow…"

"He or she would have to have been very strong, but yes. It was the same weapon." When they stepped through the door to the butcher shop, they were assaulted by the scent of raw meat. Brennan wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I hate the smell of a butcher shop."

"So maggots, rotting faces, and burst guts don't bother you, but the smell of a butcher shop does?" he asked.

"It's a very small step between selling dead meat and making meat dead," she replied. "It's one of the reasons I'm a vegetarian."

"Yeah, Bones, I know. Not me though," he grinned proudly.

"Yeah, that's why I said _I_ , not _we_. A butcher would have to be very adept at cutting through bone," Brennan observed as she looked at the meat on display. Booth nodded and rung the bell for service. While they waited, Brennan noticed a pamphlet on the counter. It was most likely the same one Mularz had been passing out at the Ambassadora. "'Horse meat,'" she read aloud. "'Sweet, rich, lean, and soft.'" They grimaced in unison.

"Can I help you?" Tom Mularz asked as he approached. He was a young man and rather good looking. He wore a bloody apron that didn't do much to reassure Booth of his innocence.

"Yeah, we're looking to score some horsemeat," Booth replied.

"Unfortunately right now there are only two slaughterhouses in the US, and they don't export to Virginia."

"Oh, that's a shame. You Tom Mularz?"

"...Why?" Mularz asked, looking nervous now. Booth lifted his badge into the air but wasn't able to finish saying his name before Mularz had sprinted off in the opposite direction. He was clearly headed for a rear entrance, so Booth instructed Brennan go around the building from the outside while he followed Mularz through the shop. They managed to corner him outside behind the building, and Brennan held a hand out to stop him.

"Stop, or I'll kick you in the testicles!" she warned. Mularz made to run in the other direction, but Booth caught him by the arm and swung him into the side of the building. Mularz fell to the pavement and stayed put long enough for Booth to cuff him.

"' _Stop, or I'll kick you in the testicles?'"_ Booth repeated incredulously. _Would it kill her to say 'balls' or 'nuts?'_ he wondered. Brennan shrugged indifferently.

"It worked."

Although chasing after fleeing criminals was certainly nothing new for Booth and Brennan, Tom Mularz turned out to be running for an entirely different reason. He was a deserter from the National Guard. He also had no idea that Ed Milner was dead. Mularz admitted to breaking into Lucky's truck to retrieve the confiscated fliers, but he knew nothing of the missing hoof knife. Booth notified the National Guard of his whereabouts and turned the focus of the investigation back to the Ambassadora. Brennan returned to the lab while Booth worked on obtaining a search warrant.

He checked his email one last time before leaving his office and was surprised to see a message from Dr. Lance Sweets in his inbox. He clicked on it with an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding, and his brows drew closer together with every line he read.

 _Shit. Bones is_ not _going to like this._

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"The victim's eyes were gouged out," Brennan informed him when she climbed into the SUV.

"You know, 'hello,' works too. 'Good to see you…' 'Missed you…'" Booth's smile was teasing as he leaned over to kiss his wife.

"Sorry," she mumbled against his lips. Once Booth pulled into traffic, she returned to her point. "Cam thinks the eyes were removed by a doctor or medical professional. Someone who isn't squeamish about flesh."

"Annie Oakley's a doctor," Booth recalled.

"That's what _I_ said. Plus, Cam found evidence to suggest that Mr. Ed had sexual intercourse the night he died, and Annie Oakley said she went to bed alone."

"So she lied," he nodded. "Well, we're heading back out there tomorrow morning. The convention won't be over yet, so we can question her again." They exchanged a smile of satisfaction with the plan and decided to pick up dinner on the way home. Booth mulled over how best to bring up the matter of Sweets' email as they laid out their food containers. "I got an email today… From Dr. Sweets."

"The therapist you talked to after you hurt your hands?"

"Yeah…" His tone implied that there was something important to discuss, but he didn't seem to have any idea how to say it.

"...And?"

"Well, the last time I talked to him, it seemed like everything was a done deal, you know?"

"But it wasn't?"

"Sort of. I was cleared on the anger management stuff, but he wants to see me again." Booth braced himself as he continued. "And he wants you there too."

"Me? Why me?"

"Cullen wants our partnership evaluated in light of the fact that I arrested your dad." He changed a glance at her and was surprised to see that she didn't appear angry at all. Brennan shrugged a little and lifted her beer to her lips.

"I suppose I can understand that."

"Huh?" he said vaguely, staring at her as though he didn't recognize her.

"Well, look at it from the FBI's perspective, Booth. Most partnerships probably wouldn't survive something like that because hardly anyone is that rational about their family. Not to mention we're already a bit of an oddity because of our marriage and our romantic relationship before that… I'm sure they're just covering their buttocks."

"Asses, Bones. They are most _definitely_ covering their asses." He looked at her speculatively for a moment. "So you're really okay with it? Partners' therapy? You _hate_ psychologists."

"I do, but I'm sure that once they establish that our partnership is strong, they'll be satisfied. Besides, you seem to dislike them as much as I do, especially considering how irritated you were last time. Well, _both_ times."

"I'm fine with the profilers and all that; I just hate shrinks," he grimaced. "Plus, this 'doctor' is a _kid_. I'm not even sure he's shaving yet." Brennan offered him the container of mee krob sympathetically.

"Then let's cooperate as well as we can so that we won't have to deal with him for very long."

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Booth and Brennan returned to the Ambassadora the following morning with the search warrant in hand, and 'Annie Oakley' watched with crossed arms as they poked around her designated stall in the stable.

"Look, you're making a mistake. I did not kill Ed Milner."

"She actually killed her _pony,_ Mr. Ed," Brennan clarified, smirking at Booth.

"I _loved_ Mr. Ed," Anne insisted.

"But he didn't love you back. I mean...not enough to leave his wife."

"What happened, Annie?" Booth said calmly. "Did he talk to you before you slapped him in the forehead and turned him into a human being?"

"You don't know _anything_ ," Anne sneered.

"I'm pretty sure that he told you he was going back to his wife," Brennan countered. "And you convinced him to engage in one last session of pony play."

"You took Lucky's truck out to the pasture, you had sex with him, and you finished him off," Booth added, snapping a leather strap against the wood slats as he spoke.

"Hiding in plain sight!" Brennan announced with a bright smile, dangling the hoof knife from her gloved fingertips. "Thanks for making this part easy."

Anne sputtered that the presence of the hoof knife meant nothing, but Booth and Brennan reminded her that Ed Milner's blood would be found on the blade as well as her own DNA on the handle. Booth suggested that she had gouged out Ed's eyes because she hadn't wanted to see them staring back at her.

"I left my husband for him," Anne lamented, her eyes pleading with Booth for compassion. "I left Thor for him… And he was gonna leave _me?_ What was I supposed to do?"

 _Not be a psycho?_ Booth suggested inwardly. He turned the woman away from him to cuff her and glanced at his wife. They communicated silently in their own private way as Booth guided Anne into the back seat of the SUV, and he mentally added another tally mark to their solve rate. _We really are getting incredibly good at this_ , he mused. He recalled their upcoming appointment with Dr. Sweets and expelled a mental sigh.

 _The kid had better not screw things up._

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Brennan suggested that they go to the diner that evening, and Booth readily agreed. Although the rest of the squints frequently patronized the small establishment, it was still very much _their place_. They took their seats at their usual table and chatted quietly about how the remainder of the day had gone for each of them. While Booth put the finishing touches on Brennan's birthday arrangements, she scheduled their first appointment with Dr. Sweets and made reasonable progress with the case paperwork.

"How's that salad?" he asked as he took a bite of his burger. Brennan recognized the gleam in his eye as the one she often saw when he was teasing her about her dietary choices.

"There are many health benefits to being vegetarian. It's a rational choice in a world where food supplies are affected by global warming issues."

"What about global taste issues?" he grinned. Not to be outdone, Brennan tilted her head and eyed the sandwich in his hand.

"Is that meat 'sweet, rich, super-lean, and soft?'" she challenged. The smile fell from her husband's face as the burger fell from his hand.

"What? Does it taste like horse meat?"

"Maybe you should consider going vegetarian too," she shrugged.

"I didn't lose my appetite because you mentioned horse meat. I lost my appetite because you made me think about all those people parading around, pretending to be something they aren't, just so they can have _crappy sex_."

"How do you know it's crappy?"

"Gotta be, Bones. Come on. It's gotta be."

"Why?" she pressed, insisting on a better answer than 'because the Bible says so.'

" _Why?_ I'll tell you why…" He leaned forward on his elbows and captured her gaze with his dark eyes. "Here we are. All of us are basically alone… separate creatures just circling each other. All searching for that slightest hint of a real connection. Some look in the wrong places. Some just give up hope because in their mind they're thinking, 'Oh, there's nobody out there for me.' But all of us, we keep trying over and over again. Why? Because every once in a while two people meet...and there's that _spark_." Her eyes softened as she listened to his words. She knew exactly what 'spark' he was talking about. "And yes, Bones, he's handsome, and she's beautiful... And maybe that's all they see at first. But making love? _Making love._ That's when two people become one."

They were both smiling gently now, completely oblivious to their surroundings. Brennan's eyes flickered to his lips, and although she wanted to kiss him very badly in that moment, the scientist in her compelled her to make one more point.

"It is... scientifically impossible for two objects to occupy the same space."

"Yeah, but what's important is we _try_. And when we do it _right_ , we get close," he grinned.

"To what? Breaking the laws of physics?" Her tone was soft without a trace of argument.

"Yeah, Bones. A miracle." They were both lost in one another's eyes for a few moments before she spoke again.

"You're right," she said with a small nod. "That's what I felt the first time we were together. It was never like that with anyone else." Booth leaned across the table to press his lips softly to hers.

"Me too, Bones. Me too."

As they changed clothes and prepared for bed that evening, Brennan's mind was still back at their table in the diner. At another time in her life, she might have argued with Booth's logic. She might've insisted that sexual experience is subjective and therefore cannot be judged on quality by anyone but the participants. She might have quoted anthropological studies or things she'd seen with her own eyes in the process of obtaining her doctorates. ...But she was no longer that person. Booth had taught her so much about sex, love, family, honor… It would be impossible to view sex only from a scientific perspective after all that she had experienced with her husband. As her thoughts wandered back to the case they had just closed, however, Brennan was reminded of a point she hadn't had the opportunity to make.

"Booth…"

"Yeah?" he answered from the bathroom. He rinsed his toothbrush and put it away before turning off the light.

"I do understand precisely what you mean about breaking the laws of physics," she began. He smiled lovingly at her as he joined her in bed. "But I still think you should be willing to admit that you _do_ enjoy role-play on occasion."

"What are you talking about?" he frowned in confusion. She stretched out against him and turned his head toward her. The smug quirk of her eyebrow only perplexed him further.

"Tony. Roxie. Wonder Woman." Her eyes dared him to deny it, but he knew he was caught. So did she. After a few moments, he sighed in resignation and gave a rueful nod of acceptance.

"Alright," he agreed. "But tonight? It's just us."

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"You know we don't _have_ to eat here, Booth. I don't mind going to places that serve meat," she insisted, glancing around the interior of the vegetarian restaurant he'd brought her to.

"Bones, it's your birthday," he replied. "The place is pretty new, but the reviews were all really positive. _And…_ I'm going to let you order for me." Her brows lifted incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yup. Just, you know... go easy on me." They exchanged a warm smile, and Brennan lowered her eyes to the menu in her hands.

Booth sipped his drink as he watched her, recalling the way they'd spent her previous birthday. They hadn't been married or even engaged at this time last year, and he distinctly remembered fantasizing over being able to buy a birthday card addressed to his _wife_. At the time, he'd believed that Brennan would never be interested in marriage, and that had been perfectly fine with him. Even if she hadn't changed her mind on the subject, he would've been perfectly content in the knowledge that she was committed to their relationship regardless of whether it was recognized by anyone else.

This year was the first year he had been able to sign a birthday card as her husband, and the amount of joy he felt at such a simple act was almost comical. He had inwardly chastised himself for being so sentimental. Booth listened as she spoke politely to the waiter about their meals and handed their menus back to him.

"So… Would you like your present now or after we eat?" he asked, his lips curving into the smile he reserved just for her.

"I'll leave that to you," she grinned back.

"Okay, then." Booth reached into his pocket to retrieve a small box and a sealed birthday card. "I have something else too, but it's not so much a gift as… Well, just open those first," he said awkwardly. Brennan smiled encouragingly, endeared by his nervousness, and opened the card first. Her smile brightened at the word 'wife,' and the poetic message warmed her heart.

"Thank you," she said quietly. He nodded in acknowledgment and pushed the tiny box toward her. Brennan gave a sultry chuckle at his enthusiasm and gasped in delight when she saw what was inside. The earrings were an inch or two in length and were formed from twisted silver and precious stones. She recognized the coral and turquoise immediately and knew that they would go perfectly with the Nepalese necklace he'd given her the year before. "Booth, these are perfect! Thank you."

"You're welcome. I noticed that you seem to have a hard time deciding which earrings to wear with that necklace. You always wear different ones and spend a lot of time trying to choose what goes best," he shrugged.

"You're right," she nodded, quirking an eyebrow at him. "You pay a _lot_ of attention to things like that."

"Only when it's you, baby. And you do the same thing," he reminded her, thinking back to the discussions they'd had about his favorite 'rebellions.' Brennan smiled coyly.

"Maybe… What was the other thing you were talking about?"

"Uh…" Booth shifted nervously in his seat a little, trying to determine the best way to ease into this particular conversation. "Well, first I want to ask you something, and if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm just curious…"

"Okay," she encouraged, her own curiosity growing by the second.

"I've noticed that you don't really write anymore," he began. Her forehead wrinkled at the unexpected statement. "I know that the copycat case really got to you, and I can understand why you might not want to keep writing books, but… It was something you really loved, Bones. I don't think you should give it up just because a handful of people were sick enough to twist your ideas the way they did." Brennan was silent, and he found her expression unnervingly difficult to read. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping-"

"No, it's okay," she assured him. Their waiter appeared with their meals, and she waited until he had moved on to another table before she continued. "I hadn't really thought that much about it lately. I do miss it… And you're right; that case made me rethink the advisability of my subject matter. I know that, statistically at least, those murders still would've been committed whether I'd written that book or not, but every time I think about writing again, I see those crime scenes in my mind. I never wanted to see that in real life."

"I get it, Bones. And I'm not pushing you, I promise. I just know how much you enjoyed writing. It helped you decompress after cases, and it was something that helped you connect to other people. I just don't want to see you give up something like that because of what happened. You reached a lot of people through your writing."

"Yeah...murderers and stalkers," she said wryly.

"Not just them," Booth insisted. He reached into his jacket to pull an envelope from the inner pocket. "You have a lot of readers who are perfectly sane. I thought maybe you might...need a reminder."

"What's this?" Brennan asked, peeking inside the envelope hesitantly.

"Just some fan mail that _didn't_ come from crazy people. I got them from your publisher. You don't have to read them now, or even at all, if you don't want to. Like I said, I don't want to push you. But even if you don't _publish_ anything else, I hope you don't give up writing altogether. Maybe it would help you sort things out."

"Sort things out?"

"Yeah, you know… Your dad, your brother… Writing was an escape, and it helped you. Plus, you're _really_ good at it."

Brennan smiled and smoothed the envelope between her fingers thoughtfully. It was exactly like Booth to notice that she'd quit writing and want to make sure she was really at peace with it. She was actually surprised he hadn't brought it up sooner. She supposed that between their jobs, their personal life, and their side investigation into her foster parents' deaths, they'd both had a lot on their minds.

"Thank you, Booth. I won't read them right now, but I _will_ read them. I hadn't really thought about it from the perspective of the readers, and it's certainly been a long time since I've read any fan mail. My publisher has been emailing a lot about my next novel, but I've been putting them off."

"It's alright, Bones. It's entirely up to you, and you know I'll support you either way."

"I know," she replied, smiling back at him affectionately before tucking the envelope into her purse along with her gift and birthday card.

Their conversation drifted to other topics as they finished their meal and took a walk together around the Mall. They were pleasantly surprised to encounter a group of street musicians playing for a small gathering of people. The band played a medley of older songs, covering the timeless artists of the big band era. As the couple stood near the back of the crowd to listen, Booth leaned down to capture Brennan's lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Their arms wound around one another, and by the time their mouths separated, they had begun to sway gently to the music.

Booth smiled down at his wife and surprised her by spinning her outward, only to pull her back toward him once more. Brennan laughed lightly, getting lost in his eyes while she followed his steps. It didn't take much effort with Booth; it really _was_ all in the leading. They had danced together many times since they'd decided to take a chance on one another, and she was always amazed by his ability to make her look as though she knew what she was doing. Dancing had never been one of her particular talents, but with Booth it didn't seem to matter.

As one song bled seamlessly into another, she felt her stress ebbing away, and Brennan marveled at the fact that he could make her feel better no matter what was going on in their lives. With each sway and twirl, her mind felt more at ease. The compulsory partner's therapy, her brother's continued absence, even her father's misdeeds...none of it could touch her in that moment.

She held his dark gaze as they danced, and she was struck by the realization that he seemed to have come into her life exactly when she'd needed him most. Imagining her life without him was a frightening prospect. Brennan reminisced on the events that had transpired in the three years they'd known one another, and she wondered who she would be if it weren't for Booth. She thought back to the things she'd learned about her mother, to being kidnapped by Peter, to being abandoned by her family yet again, and to discovering that her father's past might be darker than she'd ever dreamed.

Brennan wasn't sure she could have gone through all of it and managed to cope with the fallout on her own. How would those events have shaped her? Would she still be the same person she was before Booth? Or would she have re-fortified her walls and sunken even further within herself for the sake of her own sanity?

As her husband held her in his arms almost reverently, Brennan couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there _was_ such a thing as fate.

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 **A note about the writing thing - She published 3 books in 2 years on the show, and then not another one until S5 (if I'm not mistaken). They never really addressed that, but I felt that I should. Next up, we'll have the first official session of partners' therapy. Fingers crossed that I went the right direction with Sweets. He won't be getting as many scenes in my story as he did on the show, but I still think he has his purpose.**

 **Leave me some love! (pretty pretty please)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hope your weekend is treating you well so far. I haven't given my beta a shoutout in a while, so I feel I should. She corrects my typos and gives me lots of wonderful feedback, especially when I'm doubting myself. Thanks, chosenname, you're the best!**

 **Sweets is back in this chapter and the next. Try to imagine him as the more grown-up Sweets we eventually came to appreciate. Even in places where the dialogue is the same, I didn't picture him as a kid in an oversized suit when I wrote it. Happy reading!**

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Chapter 7

The Saturday following Brennan's birthday marked their first session of partners' therapy with Dr. Sweets, and it was clear that Booth would have very much preferred to be anywhere else. When they entered his office, Brennan did her best to control her reaction to his obvious youth.

"You weren't exaggerating," she muttered under her breath to her husband. He gave her an I-told-you-so expression and pointed her toward one of the armchairs. Sweets pretended not to catch their exchange and greeted them politely.

"Good to see you again, Agent Booth," he said, wincing slightly at Booth's overly firm handshake. "And you must be Dr. Brennan; it's a great pleasure to meet you." She shook his hand but did not return the compliment. She had agreed to cooperate, but she didn't have to lie. She found no pleasure in being there. Sweets faltered slightly but pressed on. "I've read through a lot of your case files, and I look forward to getting to know you both. I think I'd like to start with a simple trust exercise, if you're up for it."

"Whatever gets us out of here sooner," Booth grumbled. Sweets asked them to stand in a more open area of his office and instructed them to face each other with their palms touching between them.

"Together… A little closer… Okay, yeah. That's perfect. Now, keeping your back straight, I want you each to lean forward," Sweets instructed. Booth and Brennan locked eyes and wore identical smirks as they leaned toward one another. Long seconds passed as they remained in position, communicating in their own private way.

"Is this supposed to be about trust or self-control?" Booth asked with a crooked smile. His eyes kept darting down to Brennan's mouth, and he really wished he could kiss his wife without the adolescent audience. Sweets set his jaw and smiled reluctantly, perfectly able to see the sexual tension between the two.

"Yeah, okay… I guess maybe that's not quite the right exercise for a married couple," he admitted. "Go ahead and take your seats." They did so, but not before Booth placed a fleeting kiss upon Brennan's cheek.

"It's just as well," Booth commented as they settled back into their chairs. "We agreed to see a therapist, not to be action figures for a twelve-year-old."

"I'm twenty-two, Agent Booth," Sweets reminded him. "I have a doctorate in psychology from the University of Pennsylvania, where my dissertation on the effects of job stress was published-"

"That's great. I'm sure your mother is really proud of you, Sweets," Booth interrupted. Again, the therapist looked uncomfortable.

"It's _Dr. Sweets_ , actually. Or Lance, I suppose, if you're more comfortable with informality. But I'd prefer, out of respect for each other and the process of psychotherapy, that we at least try to…" He trailed off as Booth rose halfway to his feet again and tried to hand him an ink pen.

"Sign the forms so we can get out of here and back to our lives, please." Sweets pursed his lips and took the pen, but he gave no indication of complying with Booth's request. He looked to Brennan with an expression that might have been pleading for her assistance, but she merely gave an innocent shrug.

"I don't care how young you are," she stated. "I've never believed in psychotherapy." Sweets sighed in frustration. He had hoped they would be more receptive to his process, but it was clear that Booth had no intention of cooperating.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan… This isn't a game. The FBI is considering severing your partnership." _Okay, that was a bluff,_ Sweets thought. However, watching the smile slide from Booth's face was rather vindicating. He needed them to take him seriously if he was going to evaluate them properly or ever be able to help them with anything.

"What?" Brennan asked in alarm.

"Why?" Booth followed.

"Why?" Sweets echoed, looking incredulous. "Dude, you arrested her father."

"He was just doing his job," Brennan defended.

"Yeah, but come on. He _arrested_ your _father_. He's going to have to testify against him…" Sweets rattled on a bit about the awkward circumstances surrounding Max Keenan's incarceration and impending trial, and Booth scrutinized him with a frown of displeasure. Though he was fairly certain the kid was full of crap, the threat to their partnership had flustered him, and he was having a hard time reading Sweets successfully. "Now, I need you both to fill out these questionnaires and get them back to me. Don't share your answers; it'll help me evaluate whether Dr. Brennan's services should be assigned to a new agent."

"That's not going to happen," Booth declared obstinately.

"Like it or not, Agent Booth, I'm the therapist in charge of this case, so I suggest that we work in cooperation rather than conflict." He made awkward gestures with his hands as he spoke, and Booth rolled his eyes. While Booth watched Sweets, Brennan watched Booth, waiting for him to give her some indication of how to handle this. When she saw none, she decided the safest option would be to appease the therapist.

"I can cooperate," she said evenly. Booth glanced at her in surprise.

"Good," Sweets approved. "Agent Booth?" Booth stood and did his best to fix a casual expression upon his face.

"Still gonna call you Sweets," he replied stubbornly as he took the questionnaire from the therapist.

Sweets gritted his teeth but said nothing as Booth and Brennan left his office. Booth was as he remembered from their previous sessions, but Brennan had managed to surprise him. He'd done his homework in preparation for their sessions, and he hadn't expected her to be any more cooperative than Booth. His expectations were lowered even further when she had stated her open disapproval of his field.

He had read through a number of their case files, starting with the ones that were best known. Reading through her family's FBI files had taken him the better part of a week. Sweets had been able to deduce that Brennan had been in foster care after her parents had left, but he could only guess at the details of those years. His previous conversation with Booth regarding disturbing events from her childhood led Sweets to believe that she had most likely been abused in some way. This troubled him as much as it intrigued him. As a therapist and a human being, any type of abuse concerned him. As a former foster child himself with his own history of abuse, he wondered just how much they might have in common.

His concern for Booth remained firm, and in that regard, Sweets knew that he would have his work cut out for him. Booth had clear issues with anger, even if he was able to manage them fairly well the majority of the time. The FBI was still concerned about the occasions that Booth had spun out of control, and they wanted him to assess the likelihood for recurrence. Sweets didn't think it was a big enough risk to keep him out of the field, but it was clear to him that there were multiple underlying issues contributing to the problem.

Sweets had also taken a look at their personnel files, particularly in the areas of evaluation and the personal observations of Booth's superiors. Although Brennan wasn't directly employed by the FBI, she had been evaluated as a contracted employee more than once since she'd begun working with Booth. Their partnership was recognized throughout the DC field office as the most successful and productive on record, and nearly everyone had sung the praises of the Jeffersonian forensic team.

Her easy dismissal of the fact that her husband had been the one to arrest her father for murder had stunned him. He had never met anyone who could be that rational. What fascinated Sweets the most, in a purely academic way, was the overwhelming amount of trauma the partners had endured in the last two years alone. Brennan had been kidnapped _twice_ , once by an ex-boyfriend and then again by a sadistic serial killer. She had been the victim of a physical attack while volunteering in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Her novel had been used as a guide for several disturbing murders. She had investigated-and helped solve-her own mother's murder. She had even taken part in the investigation of Deputy Director Kirby's murder, which had implicated her own father. Any one of those experiences would've been enough to cause psychological issues, but taken collectively, Sweets was surprised that she was still functional. He wasn't sure if she was truly coping with her traumas as well as she seemed to be, or if she was simply that good at hiding her reactions.

Whatever the case, Sweets was concerned for both partners, and he hoped that they would eventually trust him enough to accept his help.

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"It's some kind of personality test," Brennan declared as she flipped through the many pages of Sweets' questionnaire.

"Can't believe he gave us _homework_. Probably his," Booth muttered, grunting in renewed frustration at Sweets' unwelcome intrusion into their lives. He glanced at her from the driver's seat of the SUV and was somewhat surprised that she was studying the quiz so intently. "You're actually going to do it, aren't you?"

"I always did my homework," she replied as she scowled at a page labeled _Social Traits_.

"Yeah, but you know it's bullshit, right?"

"Of course, Booth, but we need to cooperate."

"I'm surprised you didn't blackmail him on the spot when he suggested severing our partnership. Especially since you were more than willing to blackmail me _and_ Cullen in the past," he reminded her. She sighed and closed the questionnaire booklet.

"I thought about it and nearly did say something to that effect, but I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Normally when someone makes a comment like that, I would just threaten to end my FBI contract if they separate us…"

"So what stopped you this time?" he asked, watching her as closely as possible while he drove. She seemed to consider her answer carefully before she gave it.

"I want to work with you because I still think you're the best, but I've also become rather attached to the work we do together. I like helping you solve crimes, putting the bad guys in jail… helping you with your _cosmic balance sheet._ I value our work too much not to take the threat seriously. Even if it _was_ made by a teenager in a suit," she added with a smirk.

Booth grinned back at her, feeling adequately reassured. Sweets' threat had bothered him as well, and he couldn't help but wonder if Cullen really _was_ considering severing their partnership. It had been a real concern back in the early days of their romantic relationship, but that was nearly two years ago. Surely they'd proven by now that they could maintain a professional relationship without their romantic one causing conflicts.

The chirping of his phone startled him, and he fished it out of his pocket quickly. _Crime scene,_ he mouthed to his wife, sighing with a fair measure of disappointment. He'd really been looking forward to a quiet night at home together. Brennan glanced at the back seat behind her to check that they had her forensic kit, and she tossed Sweets' questionnaire into her messenger bag.

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Cam was already on the scene with a score of FBI forensic techs. The body had been literally stumbled upon by a couple of teenagers who had been attempting use the privacy of the abandoned property for romantic purposes.

"Definitely not homeless," Booth observed, aiming his flashlight beam at the body. "Nice watch, good shoes...at least what's left of them."

"Male, middle-aged," Brennan announced. "The level of decomp would suggest he's been out here for a few weeks, but…" She trailed off, knowing that the theory was highly unlikely.

"I don't get it. Kids coming down here every night, and they're just noticing him now?" Booth wondered aloud. Cam suggested that the victim might have been dumped at the top of the hill only to roll down to the bottom, which would have explained the fresh leaves and mud covering the body. Brennan was only half-listening, her attention caught by another anomaly.

At first glance, Brennan thought it looked like just about every other set of human remains in advanced decomposition she'd seen. However, when she got close enough to actually touch the body, she was alarmed to discover that the body was radiating an abnormal amount of heat. Upon Brennan's request, Cam took an internal body temperature. Booth's mind seemed to have wandered.

"We used to use the local golf course," he mused nostalgically. "I remember taking Mary Ann Milano to the ninth hole sandtrap… She had long hair all the way-"

"You are so going to regret telling this story," Cam warned, interrupting his reverie. Booth glanced sheepishly at his wife, who was giving him a very well-learned stare-down. She didn't look away until the thermometer in Cam's hand beeped to announce the victim's core temperature. The display indicated a temperature of one hundred and twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, leading the two scientists to agree that the body had been cooked.

Though Brennan showed signs of wanting to return to the lab with the body to begin her in-depth analysis right away, Booth was able to talk her out of it. They compromised on the understanding that she would go in early the following morning. When Brennan arrived at the lab shortly after dawn, she was only mildly surprised to find Zack already on the platform. Since returning home, he seemed to spend the majority of his time at the lab. Though some of their colleagues found it odd, Brennan wasn't fazed. Zack's impressive work ethic was nothing new, and she herself had spent the majority of her adult life in one lab or another.

The two of them worked in companionable silence for several hours, speaking only to relay their findings. By the time Hodgins and Cam joined them, they were both on their second cups of coffee. Hodgins was able to extract several different species of insects from the remains before retreating happily to his office, and Brennan eventually left Zack and Cam to handle the defleshing of the bones.

Angela was able to identify the victim as Franklin Curtis, a fifty-four-year-old organic farmer from Virginia. The man had founded a chain of organic supermarkets.

"Totally overpriced," Booth declared. "A carrot is a carrot." He'd gone many rounds with his wife on this particular argument, but she'd never been able to change his mind.

"Hey, it's worth it," Angela decreed, quickly joining Team Brennan. "Organic, no pesticides. It's from sustainable farms… Every time I buy something there, I feel so virtuous." Booth did his best not to roll his eyes.

"The guy started off with a single roadside produce stand, which he grew into a nationwide supermarket chain. Ambition like that is bound to create a few enemies," he reasoned. Hodgins joined them and announced that he'd discovered something Booth had never heard of on the victim's pants. The name of the unknown substance had his wife's face squinting even more than usual.

"Why the pinchy face, Bones?"

"Franklin Curtis built his whole career on organic produce, and chloropicrin…"

"Is a pesticide," Hodgins finished. Booth was the only person in the room who didn't seem particularly troubled by the revelation. In his opinion, things that didn't quite add up were always the best places to start in an investigation.

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Booth and Brennan ended up spending the majority of the day in Augusta County, Virginia, speaking to those who had interacted with the victim on a regular basis. They began with Curtis' wife and teenaged daughter, Margie and Kat. Though Margie promptly denied the possibility that her husband might have had any enemies that could've done him harm, Kat revealed that her father had been in the habit of pressuring other farmers to go organic. If someone refused, Curtis would pay his legal team to find a different means of forcing them out, either through property taxes, zoning violations, or some other contrived infraction.

One particular local tobacco farmer, Andrew Harding, had been persistently stubborn about resisting Curtis' efforts. Although the man's clear dislike for the victim wasn't enough to justify a search of his property, his use of chloropicrin most certainly was. On their way back to DC to retrieve a search warrant, Brennan turned their conversation back to the organic vs. non-organic debate.

"You know, if pesticides are so bad for us, then why do people live longer now than they did before they used pesticides?" Booth asked, smirking at Brennan's predictably flustered response.

"You're over-simplifying an enormously complex issue."

"Meaning you don't have a good answer."

"The arguments in favor of organic farming aren't just about food safety. They're also about prevention of soil erosion, protection of water quality, carbon emissions from shipping, not to mention-"

"Whatever. You know what? You're not going to see me paying four dollars for a tomato," he declared. She lifted a challenging brow in his direction, and he backpedaled slightly. "Unless it's your birthday," he mumbled.

"You know… A researcher at the University of Florida proved that alligators who swim in pesticide contaminated waters have smaller genitalia than their clean-water counterparts," she said lightly.

"Yeah, you've said that before," he grinned. "And my answer is still the same. I'm pretty sure you don't have any complaints when it comes to my proportions." He held her gaze for a moment, waiting for her to crack. It didn't take long. She rolled her eyes but allowed a rueful smile to grace her features.

"I'll admit I do find your anatomy to be extremely satisfying." Brennan turned her eyes back to the road but shook her head when she saw him sit up a little straighter in her peripheral. The smile didn't leave her face as she mentally compiled more facts and research for their next discussion. After ten or fifteen minutes of silence, however, Booth noticed that her expression was no longer amused, and her mind seemed to have drifted in another direction entirely.

"Bones? You okay?"

"Tobacco has to be cured," she said absently, still zoned out. "It's done in curing barns, using indirect fired burners."

"Oh," he nodded, catching onto her logic. "So if Frank's body was in Harding's curing barn, that would explain how it got cooked." Brennan nodded and answered a call from Cam on her cell. Booth waited patiently while Cam filled her in on the most recent findings, and he was slightly concerned to see Brennan's eyes widen in alarm.

"What? We got big news from the nerd posse?" he asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"When we search the tobacco farm, we'll be looking for more than the murder site. We'll be looking for a second victim."

"What made Cam think that?"

"Skin slippage," she replied. Booth looked a bit green but still confused. "There's evidence of a second body being pressed up against Curtis' body as it decomposed." Booth grimaced at the mental image.

"Fantastic."

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The search of the Harding farm was a bust, aside from the information Booth was able to coax out of Harding's loquacious wife. Lizbeth Harding prattled on that Curtis had been a notorious flirt, making passes at her in the hopes that she might talk her husband into selling their farm. Harding looked intensely uncomfortable at his wife's rambling and merely muttered that it hadn't seemed relevant during their earlier discussion. Afterward, one of Hodgins' findings led them briefly to a pineapple grower in the county, and yet another tip pointed them in the direction of a local composting facility.

"Compost, _of course_ ," Hodgins said when Brennan called from her cell. "The identifying organisms would have started dying as soon as the body was removed from the heat."

"But how high do the temperatures get?" Brennan asked, switching the phone to speaker mode.

"Inside a large compost heap, as high as a hundred and seventy degrees."

"That's hot enough to cook a body," Booth agreed.

"Hey… Are you guys going to check out a large compost pile?" Hodgins asked, his tone reminiscent of a small boy on Christmas Eve.

"It's wrong how excited he sounds," Booth whispered. Brennan grinned and ended the call as they drew nearer to their destination.

Franklin Curtis, it turned out, had made varying impressions upon the men who worked at the compost facility. The supervisor, Gavin Lee, introduced a couple of the local farmers who contributed waste to the site. Lee, Tim Peck, and Charlie Rogan all seemed to have a fairly positive opinion of Curtis, but Clay Ainsley dismissed him as a capitalist as opposed to a naturalist like the rest of them. Charlie Rogan volunteered that he had dated Kat Curtis while the two were in high school.

Brennan explained that they would need to close the facility while it was searched for a second body, and her statement effectively ended the men's cooperation. Lee insisted that they return with a warrant. Booth placed the call as soon as they were back in the SUV, and he was somewhat relieved when he looked at the clock. It would be after six by the time they got back to DC, which meant that they could go home rather than back to one of their offices. Brennan was feeling the effects of their long day as well and didn't argue when he announced their destination.

They had another appointment with Sweets the following morning, so they spent the evening completing their 'homework' assignments. Though Booth grumbled noisily from his recliner and made many attempts to compare answers, Brennan insisted that they follow Sweets' rules, at least for the time being.

Brennan watched with a smirk as Booth pulled on a particularly colorful pair of striped socks the next morning, and she wondered what Dr. Wyatt would think of Dr. Sweets. She had been able to put aside her distaste for psychology enough to form a respectful opinion of 'Gordon Gordon,' particularly in light of the fact that he had been like no other psychologist or psychiatrist Brennan had ever encountered. She was withholding judgment when it came to Sweets, however. His youth didn't really bother her the way it irritated Booth, especially since she had been a prodigy herself, but it was clear that her husband didn't like him. Brennan trusted his judgment implicitly; she even trusted his 'gut' most of the time. Only if Sweets was able to win him over would she then consider giving her tentative approval as well.

"Bones?"

She looked up from the task of pulling her boots on and narrowed her eyes at the expression on his face. She knew that look.

"Yes?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"Uh… Nothing." Booth's eyes never quite met hers; they were focused about ten inches too low. His wife had chosen one of _those_ shirts. It was one of the many articles of clothing that had driven him to distraction during the months they'd spent 'taking things slowly.' It was scooped low over her breasts, revealing just enough of the smooth curves to make his pants rather tight. It also gave him another reason to consider canceling on Sweets that morning.

"You sure?" she asked innocently, standing up when she was finished with her boots. She crossed the room slowly toward him, biting back a smile at his ambiguous expression. He was clearly in the midst of some sort of argument with his subconscious, and she wasn't sure which side was winning. "We don't have time, Booth."

He looked sheepishly back at her, actually making eye contact this time. Brennan chuckled as his bottom lip jutted out slightly, and she leaned up to kiss him softly, unable to resist gently pulling that lip between her teeth. Booth groaned and kissed her without reservation, no longer debating whether or not to call off their early session with the pre-pubescent shrink. His passion caught her slightly off guard, and by the time she had regained her senses, Booth's hands had tugged her shirt from her jeans and begun their journey north to her breasts.

"Booth," she chastised, slipping deftly away from his roaming hands. "We don't have time."

"We can reschedule," he insisted.

"No, come on." She motioned him toward the door, donning a blue jacket and a no-nonsense expression. "We don't need to give Sweets a reason to penalize us, especially if Cullen's really thinking about separating us. Let's go."

He sighed, inwardly cursing the shrink as well as his boss. This was going to be a long day.

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Booth sat irritably in Sweets' office, peeking occasionally at his phone to check the status of the warrant for the compost facility. He gave a half-hearted attempt at being covert about it, but neither of the other occupants of the room was deceived. Sweets was saying something about 'independent people,' but Booth was clearly not listening.

"The judge will call when the warrant is issued, Booth. Pay attention," Brennan admonished him.

"What? I'm in the middle of an investigation; I get distracted."

"So it's not my investigation too?" she challenged.

"It's too early in the morning for this," Booth sighed, fervently wishing they'd stopped for coffee on the way to the Hoover.

"No, no, no. This is good," Sweets insisted, jumping onto what he perceived as an opportunity to get his clients engaged. "Let's talk about conflict. When you guys argue, how do you come to a resolution?" Booth and Brennan stared back at him, both looking thoroughly mystified.

"We don't argue," Brennan replied simply.

"Come on, remember: _zone of truth_ , right here." He gestured ridiculously with his hands, and Booth rolled his eyes.

"Fine. We might _bicker_ a little bit," Booth said, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "But that's not arguing."

"Bicker? I don't bicker," Brennan denied.

"No? What about the whole environmentalism thing?"

"That was a _discussion_ ," she shrugged.

"You pretty much told me my penis was going to shrink if I didn't eat organic food," Booth reminded her, doing his best to keep a straight face. Sweets watched them in the manner of a man observing a tennis match.

"That's not bickering; that's being a good spouse."

"My penis is just _fine_ , thank you."

" _I know,"_ she replied, perhaps a little too loudly. They held each other's gaze, communicating in their silent way for several moments before Sweets broke the tension.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he said enthusiastically. "Alright, I think we're in that truth zone."

"Stop with the whole 'truth zone' thing, alright?" Booth snapped. Bickering with his wife was one of his favorite pastimes; wasting time in the office of a juvenile shrink was not. "Bones and I are trying to catch a guy who cooked a treehugger, so just score the personality test so we can get back to crime fighting."

"Yeah, that's good, Agent Booth," Sweets encouraged theatrically. "Now let the anger lead you to the fear. You can't be whole, you can't do your job to the fullest, unless you get in touch with that fear you feel." Booth and Brennan exchanged a dubious glance as Sweets closed his eyes, continuing to instruct Booth on how to 'feel his anger softening.' By the time he opened his eyes again, both partners were snickering at his antics. "Very mature, guys."

Booth wanted to make another well-timed comment about Sweets' youth, but his phone alerted him on the status of the search warrant he'd been expecting. He didn't bother to contain his smile as he stood and ushered his wife toward the door.

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While Zack secluded himself in the Bone Room, Hodgins tagged along with the forensic team for their search of the compost facility. After the truncated session with Sweets, Booth and Brennan returned to the compost facility as well. Hodgins looked positively radiant as he expounded upon the entomological wonder of the massive compost heap. As he was stepping from one area to another, however, something crunched beneath his feet. He and Brennan carefully excavated a small portion of the heap and found the skeleton of the second victim.

Brennan quickly identified her as a female in her early twenties, and both she and Hodgins agreed that the time of death was approximately the same as with Franklin Curtis. Brennan decided to return to the lab with the body, while Booth went back for another chat with Margie and Kat Curtis. The second interview with Margie was rather uncomfortable. She admitted that she had known about her husband's affairs but insisted that she'd loved him enough to accept his faults.

"If you were so forgiving of your husband's infidelity, why didn't you mention that in our first conversation?" Booth asked.

"Kat. I couldn't do that to our daughter. She idolized Frank. I can't ruin that, especially now," Margie replied tearfully.

"Mom." Kat stood in the doorway next to Charlie Rogan, tears shimmering in her green eyes. Charlie spoke up anxiously.

"Mrs. Curtis, I… I came over to tell you and Kat how sorry I am. Gavin said he'd try to stop over later. I didn't mean to interrupt." The young man looked wretchedly uncomfortable, dithering on the spot as though he couldn't decide whether to stay or go. The tension in the room only increased when Kat addressed her mother again.

"It's okay, Charlie. Stay. Mom, I've known since high school. Charlie knew, all my classmates knew…"

"Oh, God," Margie sighed, her expression crumbling.

"I pretended I didn't. For you." The two women held each other for a few moments before Booth hesitantly voiced his next question.

"Do any of you have any idea where Frank might have conducted his affairs? Or who he might have been seeing at the time of his death?"

"He kept an office in town," Margie answered with a quiet sob. "So far as I know, that's the only other property in his name."

Booth thanked them for their time and called the Bureau on his way back to DC. By the time he reached the lab to check in with the squints, Charlie had managed to track down some information on Frank's office. It turned out to be an apartment where, presumably, Frank had conducted his romantic liaisons. Booth convinced Brennan to come with him to check the place for evidence, and neither was disappointed.

"These sunglasses are made of bamboo," Brennan commented, lifting up the light brown frames from their place on an accent table.

"Is that weird?" Booth asked, uncertain as to why she was telling him about sunglasses when she should've been looking for more obvious things like blood. She shrugged and simply replied that most frames were made out of plastic or metal. Booth scoped out the bathroom and was unsurprised to find feminine toiletries and other items. This was clearly a woman's home, at least on occasion.

"Dried blood on the coffee table," Brennan announced from the living room. She shined her UV light at corner of the low table and revealed a pattern that was most concentrated at the pointed edge.

Booth found a credit card receipt bearing the name of Emma Billings, and a closer look at the refrigerator door made him certain that both Emma and Frank had been in the apartment together at some point or another. A small photograph was mounted to the refrigerator, depicting Franklin Curtis with his arm around a young, strawberry blonde woman. Brennan compared the picture with Angela's reconstruction.

"I think we have our second victim."

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Booth and Brennan decided to return home for the evening after ensuring that the coffee table, photograph, and a few other pieces of evidence had been shipped back to the Jeffersonian. Booth had been somewhat distracted all day, still frustrated at the fact that his plans for morning intimacy had been waylaid by Sweets. Brennan's shirt was off within five seconds of the door closing, and Booth captured her lips in a heated kiss.

"That shirt might need to be reclassified to not-safe-for-work status," Booth murmured against the soft skin of her throat. Her sultry chuckle vibrated against his lips, and the sound made him even more aroused, if that were possible.

"At this rate, I won't have anything left to wear to work." He coaxed her slowly backward until she was trapped between the wall and his muscled body, and within another sixty seconds, the rest of their clothing had joined her shirt on the floor.

"Wall, couch, or table?" He grunted the question in the split second before his lips wrapped around the rosy peak of her breasts, sending her fingertips into his hair.

"We do have a bed," she reminded him.

"No way we're making it that far," he declared, his tongue tracing circles over her nipple. Brennan moaned and pressed her thighs together in a vain attempt to sooth the ache between them.

"Table, then," she panted. He didn't need telling twice. Brennan found herself bent over the edge of the dining room table before she had even registered that they had moved at all. "Yes…"

"Hold on, baby." His hands crept around to palm her breasts, grasping firmly as he entered her from behind. They both expelled a cry of pleasure at their joining, thrilling at the joy of the connection they'd been craving all day. Booth set a pounding rhythm, encouraged by the noises she was making. Her throaty moans and gasps had always had the power to drive him mad with desire, and being inside of her at the same time only intensified the effect.

Brennan held on firmly to the table, clutching the edges so tightly that she broke a nail when her climax washed over her. The clenching and spasming of her inner walls sent Booth over the edge as well, and he came hard within her. Tiny lights popped behind his eyelids as he struggled to slow his thundering pulse. After a few moments, he regained enough awareness to recognize that he might have been too rough with her. Generally speaking, that was something they both enjoyed, and Brennan had been more than ready for him physically. But that didn't stop him from worrying that he might have hurt her somehow. He slipped out of her, and she whimpered slightly at the loss.

"Are you okay? Was I too rough?" he asked guiltily, helping her to stand. She promptly turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Of course not. If you were, I'd have stopped you," she assured him. They shared a loving smile and a kiss that left them nearly breathless once more. "I _am_ hungry though…" Brennan trailed off thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. "It's early enough to make mac-n-cheese," she said temptingly. Booth groaned in appreciation.

"You know, if you're trying to get a second round out of me, bribery is totally unnecessary. I'm a sure thing." They laughed in harmony as she tugged him toward their pile of abandoned clothing.

"Of that, I have absolutely no doubt."

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 **I don't know about you, but he can bend me over anytime and... uh, sorry. *cough* Anyways...**

 **Review! :) See you Wednesday!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you for the great feedback in many forms. I truly appreciate it! This chapter starts one of favorite episodes, which was really fun to write. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 8

Since Booth and Brennan had yet another appointment with Sweets the following evening, Brennan once again decided to start her workday early. It was the second day that week that she had been awake and out of the house before five a.m., and Booth was not particularly pleased about it. It reminded him of her previous habits, and he couldn't help but resent Sweets for disrupting the well-established rhythm of their lives.

Booth spent his morning tracking down information on Emma Billings. She had been employed as a cashier at one of Frank Curtis' organic grocery stores in New Jersey, but the apartment she'd lived in was in Virginia. When he dug into the matter a bit further, he discovered that Emma had most likely been hiding from a man named Noel Liftin, against whom she had filed a restraining order. Booth wasn't all that surprised to find the man in a run-down motel room right across the street from Emma's apartment building.

When he called Brennan to share the information, she was able to give him a few more details that she and the squints had been able to determine. Though Curtis' had definitely been murdered by multiple penetrating wounds to the torso, Emma Billings' death appeared to have been accidental. She had somehow struck her head on the corner of her coffee table, and the impact had been hard enough to break her neck. Whoever had been in the room with her at the time had even attempted CPR. Perhaps the most interesting news, however, was the fact that the victims had been related. They shared a congenital deformation of the sternum, and when Cam compared their DNA samples, she discovered that Emma had been Frank's daughter. Whether or not Frank's murderer had known that they were relatives as opposed to lovers remained to be seen.

Although Booth went through the formality of interrogating Noel Liftin, he was fairly certain that the man hadn't harmed anyone. Noel admitted to having followed and observed Emma closely in the months prior to her death, but he seemed to be under the impression that he'd been doing so for the sake of Emma's safety. He thought that Frank Curtis had been her boyfriend, and the interactions he'd observed between them had given him the impression that Frank had been controlling and domineering.

Generally speaking, stalkers were the prime suspects in murder cases, but Noel Liftin didn't strike Booth as a killer. For one thing, he wondered if the guy would even be coherent enough to commit a murder. He was clearly under the influence of marijuana - an observation Booth could've made even without the distinctive smell of pot wafting across the metal table. Noel was also easily distracted, shifting his focus abruptly to abstract objects and swatting at imaginary flies in the room. The only potential place for him in the investigation was as a witness. He'd been watching Emma's building for months, and there was a reasonable chance he'd seen her attacker.

Booth headed to the Jeffersonian after having Noel escorted back to a holding cell. He decided to solicit Angela's assistance as a sketch artist, and he hoped that he would be able to convince his wife to get out of the lab for a little while as well. Though it was after one p.m., he didn't doubt that she had skipped lunch, and his suspicions were confirmed by the grateful expression on her face when she spotted the takeout bag in his hand.

"How did you know?"

"Is that a real question?" he countered, giving her his best charm smile.

"I suppose not," Brennan replied, grinning back at him affectionately. "Zack and I figured out the murder weapon. It was a pitchfork." She followed him from the Bone Room to her office and helped him set up their lunch on the coffee table. They continued to discuss the case as they ate, collecting Angela from her office before they headed back to the Hoover.

"Are you sure this is a productive use of our time?" Brennan asked from the passenger seat. "Judging by your description of the stalker, it seems unlikely that he will be able to give an accurate description."

"I'm not sure I'm following," Angela admitted from the back seat. "Your suspect is going to give me a description of your suspect?"

"Yeah, the stoned hippy guy," Booth nodded. "He's all we have so far. He saw a guy go into Emma's place, so he'll describe him, and you draw."

"I've never really found stoned guys to be very dependable. Except for cookies," she grinned. "They always have good cookies." Neither Booth nor Brennan seemed to hear her.

"You're grasping at straws, Booth. We should wait for more information," Brennan suggested. Booth raised his brows at her accurate use of a colloquialism but didn't address it.

"It has to be somebody in the composting facility. They have pitchforks to turn the heaps, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but pitchforks are used on every farm in the area."

"But not biodiesel, okay? You said Hodgins found traces of it on both victims' clothes. The owner, Gavin, said he just replaced a fuel pump on his truck when he switched to biodiesel," he reminded her.

"One of the other farmers also said that he just switched, and he has a key. He could've dumped the body in the middle of the night."

"Come on, Bones. Whose side are you on? And don't say 'the facts' because that just annoys me." He bit back a smile, anticipating her reaction.

"You want us to base our actions on your gut?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes. You have your shiny machines; _I have my gut._ "

"Is it always like this when you two are together?" Angela interrupted. They both glanced in her direction, feeling slightly guilty that they'd temporarily forgotten her presence.

"No," they answered in unison.

"Most of the time," Booth added quietly.

"It's kind of hot," Angela said with a salacious grin. When neither of them argued with her assessment, she continued, "Especially since you've been together for so long. Most couples would have drained the well of sexual tension dry by now."

Brennan rolled her eyes at her friend's observation, but she was inwardly thankful that Angela didn't think they'd really been arguing. She wished that Sweets could see their 'bickering' for what it really was…part discussion, part foreplay.

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Noel gave Angela a description of a caucasian man in his mid-twenties of average height, with a slightly muscular build and brown hair who had been wearing sunglasses. They had appeared to be made of wood, and Brennan immediately recalled the bamboo frames she'd found in Emma's apartment.

A trip back to the compost facility led to the arrest of Charlie Rogan. Not only did he match Noel's description, but he was also in possession of the bamboo sunglasses. Brennan also managed to identify the murder weapon among the tools at the facility, but before they could leave with Charlie in custody, she received a call from Cam.

"Cam, we've got the murder weapon used on Frank Curtis, plus evidence linking Charlie to the scene of Emma's murder," Brennan informed her.

"Yeah, well, I hate to throw ants in your picnic, but I recovered DNA from beneath Emma's fingernails… Charlie didn't attack Emma Billings. Her assailant was female."

"What is it?" Booth asked quietly.

"Charlie didn't kill Emma," Brennan relayed.

"But there's more," Cam added. "I noticed some odd similarities, so I compared Emma's own DNA to that of her attacker. There was a twenty-five percent commonality."

"Half sisters," Brennan said, meeting Booth's gaze. "It was Kat Curtis. She killed Emma."

Charlie and Kat were both brought in for questioning, and neither of them denied their roles in the deaths of Frank and Emma. Kat had confronted Emma at the apartment under the misconception that Emma had been having an affair with Frank. During the course of their argument, Emma had fallen into the coffee table and had died instantly. Kat had panicked after being unable to resuscitate her and had called upon Charlie for help. Charlie had agreed to dispose of the body at the compost facility while Kat and her mother had gone out of town, but he had accidentally left his sunglasses at her apartment.

Frank had apparently spotted the glasses when he'd arrived to visit Emma, and since Emma had been missing from the apartment, he'd become angry and suspicious of Charlie. Charlie had been using a pitchfork to turn the heaps at the facility when Frank had tracked him down, and Charlie had used the pitchfork in defense. He and Kat had worked together to dump the body in the hopes that Kat's mother would still be able to collect on Frank's life insurance policy. They had left him in a place where he would easily be found, since the insurance company wouldn't have given the payout without a body.

The most unfortunate part of the story was that Kat had had no idea that Emma Billings had been her half sister. Brennan broke the news to her as gently as possible, but Kat was still beside herself with shock and grief. Her pain was heartbreaking to witness, and both partners left the interrogation room feeling saddened and emotionally drained. They certainly didn't look like two people who had just solved a homicide case, and when they sat down in front of Sweets that evening, he picked up on the mood immediately.

"You don't seem too happy."

"Well, because sometimes, if you win, you end up with somebody else's pain," Booth replied, his voice low with quiet anger. "You work for the FBI; you should know that."

"Must be a challenge for you to access those feelings-"

"Okay, _stop_ ," Brennan interrupted, appalled. "You don't know Booth. You don't know me. You have a limited view of us based on superficial data that you've accumulated on a standardized questionnaire and a subjective analysis from talking to us that is not at all scientific. So _Back. Off._ " She was fuming, and Sweets tried unsuccessfully not to shrink under her stern gaze.

"Just trying to help," he said quietly.

"By questioning his humanity?" Brennan countered in disgust. She knew how much trouble Booth had gone through with this issue after the Epps had died, and she had no intentions of letting anyone make him doubt his own humanity again.

"Okay, Bones," he soothed. "It's okay. He's just a kid, right? I mean, the worst thing that's probably ever happened to him was that he lost at Mortal Kombat." Sweets pursed his lips but decided to let it go, settling on another question instead.

"Have you always been this protective of him, Dr. Brennan?"

"He's my husband, and we're partners," she answered, her tone implying that she found his question to be rather ridiculous. "Our lives depend on being protective of each other."

"And you feel the same way, Agent Booth?"

"Of course."

"You two are very close, even for a married couple. That was evident in your 'superficial,' 'standardized questionnaire' and my 'unscientific observations.'" He said the words with a smile, and he was pleased to see both partners relax in their chairs. "You complement each other."

"Did you compliment me in the questionnaire, Bones?" Booth asked, giving her a cheesy grin.

"'Complement,'" she chuckled. "With an 'e.' He means that we complete each other."

"Well, we already know that," Booth replied with a satisfied expression.

"How long into your partnership did you start dating?" Sweets asked, drawing their attention back to him. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed their propensity to forget they weren't alone in a room.

"Three or four months after our first case as partners," Brennan replied. "But we worked a case together a year prior to that, so we'd known each other for a while."

"Were you ever just _partners_ and nothing more?" Booth and Brennan exchanged a glance before answering in unison.

"Not really."

"When did you know you wanted a romantic relationship?"

"A couple of months before we got together," Brennan answered.

"Right around the time she told me she didn't believe in fate," Booth grinned.

"That was one of the first things I ever said to you, Booth," she chided before addressing Sweets again. "He's being hyperbolic. He's just talking about sexual attraction."

"Yeah, well, when it comes to that, I'm pretty sure you knew that quickly too." His smirk earned him an eye roll.

"What difference does it make?"

"I'm just trying to get the facts," Sweets replied.

"Well, I think you've gotten enough facts for one night," Booth said, gesturing to Brennan that they should make their escape.

"Okay, but we've got a lot of work to do over the next few months," he said quickly as they stepped toward the door. Brennan looked back at him.

"Meaning we get to stay together?"

"Yes, but I _have_ observed some things that need to be addressed."

Both partners looked as though they were considering asking what those _things_ were, but they seemed to simultaneously decide to quit while they were ahead. They said their goodbyes and left the office, and Sweets exhaled a tired sigh. He was slightly surprised that Booth hadn't gone to Cullen about the threat to his partnership with Dr. Brennan. Everything he'd read or been told about Booth indicated that he had a very 'take-charge' personality. He was a natural leader who liked to be in control of his environment. Sweets agreed with Dr. Wyatt that it was most likely Booth's need for control that led to his outbursts of anger, particularly in conjunction with his protective instincts.

The fact that Booth hadn't gone straight to Cullen demanding an explanation for threatening his partnership was interesting to say the least. Sweets knew that the two had known each other for many years and had something of a friendly rapport between them. He wasn't sure if Booth had simply been too busy with the case to bring it up with his boss or if he had an actual reason for neglecting to do so. After the first session with both partners, Sweets had spoken to Cullen himself in order to explain the reason for his bluff about severing the partnership. Cullen had understood his logic, but he had also made it very clear that Sweets had no such power.

Cullen had spoken at length about Booth's partnership with Brennan as well as what he knew of their personal relationship. When Sweets had expressed concern over the advisability of allowing a married couple to be partners, Cullen had basically acknowledged his opinion and overridden it in the same breath. He had agreed that in most cases it would be a bad idea, but Booth and Brennan weren't _most people_. From the very beginning, the chemistry between the two of them had been apparent to anyone within a hundred-foot radius, and even when they were arguing, the dynamic still worked. Cullen had seemed to be of the same mind as Booth and Brennan were about their relationship: they had never been _just partners_. As such, Cullen had had very few reservations when he'd gotten wind of their romantic relationship, and even those concerns had gone by the wayside when they'd continued to excel at their jobs.

Sweets had been pleasantly surprised when the couple had willingly answered his questions about the timeline of their relationship. It seemed that the more time he spent observing them, the more interesting they became to him. Not many couples would be able to spend so much time around one another, both at work and at home, and still have such obvious affection toward one another. They reminded him of his parents in that way. The partners flirted and gazed at one another like a couple on a first date, switching back and forth between their romantic and professional relationships with seemingly no effort whatsoever. On a professional level, Sweets found them to be two of the most fascinating clients he'd ever had, which was saying something since they'd had only three joint sessions.

As he drove home that evening, Sweets' mind was full of memories of his parents, observations he'd made of Booth and Brennan, and ideas for potential therapy techniques. He knew that gaining their trust would be vital to helping them. And, just as it had been with his parents, he didn't want to let them down.

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"What about Mario, huh? We could get you a fake mustache and big bushy eyebrows," Booth suggested. Parker looked at the costume skeptically for a moment but shook his head. At some point, he had picked up Brennan's squinty face of disapproval, and the sight of it made Booth smile in spite of the fact that his son had just dismissed yet another potential costume.

"I think I want to be a superhero this year, Dad. Do they have Green Lantern?"

"Maybe," Booth said, grinning proudly. "Let's go look."

"That's a great idea, Parker. I'm going as a superhero too," Brennan approved.

"Awesome! We could be like a crime-fighting team! Just like you and Dad." Booth and Brennan chuckled and continued to hunt through the racks of costumes in search of a Green Lantern in Parker's size.

"So you're gonna be Wonder Woman again, huh?" Booth said quietly. Brennan glanced at him and raised her brows at the flash of possessiveness she saw in his expression.

"Same as every year. Is that a problem?" she challenged, her blue eyes daring him to release his inner alpha male.

Booth deliberated whether or not to take the bait. He still remembered the first Jeffersonian gala they'd attended and all of the staring-down he'd done to practically every man with working genitalia. The thought of Brennan in that same crowd of men while wearing her Wonder Woman costume left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it back sensibly. He knew that she would be coming home with _him_ at the end of the night, to _their_ bed. It was _his_ ring she wore, and no amount of ogling from other men would ever change that. So he merely smiled back at her and kissed her gently.

"Eww, Dad! Gross! We're in _public._ "

The couple shared a laugh at Parker's well-timed complaint, and Brennan slipped her hand into Booth's as they continued their shopping.

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"That mummy didn't look like the one we had a couple of years ago," Booth said as they drove home from their most recent crime scene. "It looked shiny. The other one was all dry and brittle."

"Very astute observation, Agent Booth," Brennan replied with a smirk. "Almost like you're already wearing that lab coat." Booth snorted and rolled his eyes in good humor.

"Seriously though, are we sure it's still a mummy?"

"Yes. There are different methods of mummification. In this case, it was most likely done deliberately by a second party, whereas the nightclub mummy was a product of the environmental conditions inside the wall. Zack is starting the x-rays tonight, and I'll probably go in early tomorrow."

Booth grumbled inwardly but didn't argue. The crime scene they'd just left had been in the middle of a straw bale maze at Shoreline Amusement Park. They'd been guided haphazardly through the maze by the local pediatrician-slash-coroner, who had explained that the mummy had been found by a child. Working cases on holidays was one of Booth's least favorite aspects of his job, and he was thankful that they'd already taken Parker trick-or-treating last weekend. At least their case wouldn't be interfering with his parenting time.

By the time Booth picked Brennan up from the lab the next morning for their first interview, she had already put in more than a half-day's work. He found her in the autopsy room with Cam, Zack, and Hodgins, and from the sounds of things, Cam was in the process of laying down the law about the Jeffersonian Halloween party.

"I'm serious, you two. I've heard the stories. No smoke bombs, no spiking the punch with pure alcohol…" She turned her glare on Booth and Brennan. "And _no_ ditching. It's compulsory, as are the costumes." Hodgins opened his mouth to speak but was silenced with a finger. He did his best to look appropriately contrite. "I don't want any argument on this."

"I'm going to be the back end of a cow," Zack volunteered.

"So, no costume?" Hodgins snickered.

"Naomi from Paleontology has agreed to be my front."

"So many jokes, so little time," Hodgins sighed ruefully.

"We'll be there, Cam," Booth assured her before turning to his wife. "You ready to go, Bones? I got the address of that church thrift store. You can fill me in on the rest in the car."

"The body was treated with cedar oil, which is often used in mummification," Brennan announced as she glanced around the parking garage reflexively. Being there still made her mildly uncomfortable, but the additional security measures Cam had pursued had gone a long way to help Brennan overcome her fear. "The victim was female, mid-teens. Angela's working on a reconstruction for the ID and starting with the MEC database."

Booth rubbed her back soothingly before opening her door. Extra security or no, he didn't care much for this parking structure either, and being told that their victim had been a child didn't improve his mood.

The Free Church of America's thrift store was busier than Booth had expected. Pastor Bill Jonas agreed to speak with them and wasn't at all surprised to hear that a dead body had been found wearing clothes from his thrift store.

"We're a charitable congregation," he shrugged. "Homeless people know that we'll provide them with what they need."

Brennan showed him a few photographs she'd taken of the victim's clothing and asked the man if he recalled those particular items. Before he could answer, however, they were interrupted by a teenage boy wearing a long black cape.

"Pastor Jonas? Do you have anything like this in red?"

"You're looking for something that screams 'Satan,' right?" the minister asked.

"Basically."

"I think we have a pink cape in the back. Maybe we can dye it." The boy looked pleased and headed back to return the black cape to its rack.

"What kind of church dresses kids like Satanists?" Booth asked, frowning.

"Let me show you," Pastor Jonas said in a rather businesslike manner. He led them to a long table upon which sat an assortment of open shoeboxes. They had been decorated and assembled into a diorama of a haunted house consisting of seven different rooms. Each room was labeled with a theme. "At Halloween, we do a Hell House. Fornication, theft, murder, gambling, usury, sodomy, abortion…"

"It's kind of horrific, isn't it?" Brennan asked, her tone light but not quite sarcastic.

"Well, abandoning the path of righteousness _is_ horrific, Dr. Brennan. This is our way of remaking a pagan holiday into a positive celebration of Christian values." Booth scowled a bit harder as the pastor congratulated a passing teen on her prostitute costume. He didn't approve of the way fundamentalists like Pastor Jonas used his religion in order to scare people. Booth's perception of God had to do with grace, not fear.

"Anyone ever dress like a mummy?" he asked, moving things along.

"We've never had a 'false idol' room, though now you mention it, it's not a bad idea," the minister replied speculatively.

"Ancient Egyptian religious beliefs endured for almost four _thousand_ years, twice the length of Christianity," Brennan stated.

"Look, did any of your kids suddenly disappear?"

"No," Pastor Jonas replied. Booth was ready to leave, but Brennan's mind was elsewhere.

"What if the children that you save from abortion grow up to be usurers and sodomites?" she pressed. Booth resisted the urge to slap his palm into his face. Talking about religion with his atheist wife no longer made him anxious, but he really wanted to leave.

"I don't respond to mocking semantics, Dr. Brennan."

"Nor do I," Booth agreed. "But she's serious."

"In that case, my serious answer would be that… In being given the chance to live a life, the aborted soul will have a multitude of opportunities to repent for their sins and live bathed in the Holy Spirit." Booth glanced back to his wife, expecting her typical dismissal of faith-based ideology, but to his surprise, she merely nodded.

"Thank you."

" _Thank you?"_ Booth parroted incredulously, following her out of the shop to the SUV. "Didn't that pastor guy make you mad?"

"No," she shrugged as she fastened her seatbelt.

"He's a fundamentalist."

"I appreciate the consistency."

"Of what? The consistency of trying to scare kids into Christianity?" _She can't possibly approve of that,_ he thought.

"How do we keep kids from smoking? We tell them it gives them cancer."

"It _does_ give them cancer."

"According to science," she smiled."

"Right, which is your thing."

"In the end, even someone who believes in empiricism and science has to take a leap of faith."

"What?" Booth wondered if he might be having an out-of-body experience.

"I believe in what I can hear, taste, see, touch, and measure. You believe in what you feel. Pastor Jonas believes that God speaks to him through a sacred book."

"What happened to comparing belief in God to geocentrism and Jesus being a zombie?" Booth asked, gazing at her as though she'd suddenly turned purple. Brennan laughed but lifted her brows with a look of approval.

"Very good use of vocabulary, Agent Booth."

"Admit it; you're saying all this just to mess with me, right?"

"Of course not," she laughed. He threw her a disparaging look. "Seriously."

"When have _you_ ever taken a 'leap of faith?'"

"I fell in love with _you_ , didn't I?"

Their gazes held for a little longer than one might consider safe considering that Booth was driving. Though he wanted to tease her about her cheesy response, he couldn't find the words. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the smooth skin of her palm. His phone rang from inside of his suit pocket, and he released her hand to answer it.

"It's Cam," he announced, activating the speakerphone.

"I really need you to come back," Cam said, sounding anxious. "I've got a couple here who say they think the mummy in the maze is their daughter."

"That would save us some time on the identification," Booth replied.

"Their daughter only disappeared last week."

"The remains we found were at least a year old," Brennan argued.

"Yeah. Look, I'm great with corpses, but when it comes to loved ones… Let's just say there's a reason I'm not a pediatrician. So if you've got a siren, turn it on."

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Don and Margie Shaw were waiting for them in Brennan's office. They explained that their fourteen-year-old daughter, Megan, had gone missing from Shoreline Amusement Park the previous week, and when they'd heard about the mummy on the news, they'd suspected it might be their daughter. Brennan reassured them that the victim had been dead for over a year and that perhaps their daughter might still be alive. They didn't recognize the girl in Angela's forensic sketch, and before the conversation could go much further, Cam called Brennan from her office with more bad news. Another mummy had been found at the amusement park.

Booth and Brennan said farewell to the Shaws and wished them luck on finding their daughter. Margie Shaw insisted that they keep her photograph and dental records in hopes that they might find her in the course of their investigation. Booth tucked the documents into the casefile, hoping that Megan Shaw wasn't the body they were on their way to investigate.

They decided to pick up dinner and eat in the car on their way to the crime scene, though Booth wasn't entirely sure that seeing a mummy on a full stomach was in his best interests. By the time they reached the amusement park, night had fallen, and the dark sky was punctuated by the colorful fluorescent lights of the rides. The body had been discovered in a haunted house, and as they approached the structure, their attention was drawn to a woman on a stretcher. She was in a mild state of panic and was attempting to argue around an oxygen mask with the paramedic who was attending her.

"I know what I saw," she insisted.

"Keep the mask on, please, ma'am," the medic instructed.

"What's wrong with her?" Brennan asked.

"Anxiety attack. Brought on by this dungeon, here," he said, gesturing to the entrance of the fun house. A large robotic gargoyle swayed ominously over the doorway, and the sign read _Dungeon of 1000 Corpses_. "I spend half my time on these calls." He introduced himself as Pete Geller, and Booth responded with introductions of his own.

"You know it's not real, right?" Brennan addressed the woman. "You're overreacting to an excessive amount of stimuli."

"I'm not overreacting," she insisted breathlessly. "There's a dead body in there. A real one. I'm a nurse. Trust me, I know a dead body when I see one."

"Did you see anything?" Booth asked Geller.

"Not much time for that," the man shrugged. "Just went in, found her, got her out…"

"Right. What did you see?" he asked the woman.

"A corpse. Just past the killer clown."

" _Clown?"_ Booth repeated, wondering if his voice really sounded so high-pitched to everyone else.

"You okay?" Geller asked in concern.

"Yeah."

"You sure?" Brennan pressed, frowning slightly. Booth reassured her that he was fine, but as they walked toward the entrance of the haunted house, he felt as though every muscle in his body was clenched tightly. Brennan allowed him to go in first, as that was something he usually insisted upon, but she almost ran into the back of him when he stopped suddenly. She peeked around his shoulder to see a clown mannequin with wrinkly skin and bloody, sharp teeth standing in front of him. "What's wrong?"

Booth yelped and jumped slightly, and Brennan held his upper arms steady so that he didn't tread on her feet. Luckily, his phone began to ring from his pocket, and he lifted it to show her that Cam was calling him and that the sound had been what had startled him.

"Coulrophobia," Brennan said succinctly, stepping around him for a better view of his face.

"Huh?"

"The fear of clowns. Coulrophobia. Why haven't you ever told me about it? Do you think you would've shot that speaker last spring if it hadn't looked like a clown?"

"I have no problems with clowns. I can stand right here, see?" he said defensively as he answered his still-ringing phone. His eyes darted back to the clown every few seconds as Cam gave him more information for the case. The first victim had been identified as fifteen-year-old Stella Higgins, who had disappeared a year ago to the day from the very same amusement park.

Brennan moved past the clown first, but as Booth passed it, the mannequin moved as if to follow him, emitting a high-pitched, maniacal laugh. Booth yelped again and hurried forward, falling into step beside Brennan. They entered another area of the building, and Brennan mocked the deep, evil laugh that blared from the speakers.

"Yeah, okay. Clown? Scary. Not you," Booth chuckled. Brennan smiled, pleased that she'd been able to bring a smile to his face after his encounter with the clown. They proceeded a little further, making jokes about the unrealistic 'dead bodies' surrounding them, but it wasn't long until they came across a real one. It was another mummy, but this one seemed to be wearing clothing as opposed to gauze wrappings.

Brennan helped the forensic techs load the body and sweep the rest of the park, while Booth worked his way through interviews with the amusement park staff. Aside from a manager with crazy eyes and a smart-mouthed redhead with multiple piercings, the only employee who seemed like a potential suspect was a teenage kid named Greg Liscomb. Booth recognized him from their previous visit to the park and recalled that he'd been standing outside of the maze at the time.

"I should go back to the lab," Brennan said as they drove away from the park. She stifled a yawn but wasn't completely successful.

"Bones, it's late, and you're exhausted. You went in early this morning. Let the other squints work the late shift, okay?"

She looked as though she wanted to argue with him, but she eventually gave a reluctant sigh of acquiescence. As a compromise, she texted Cam and Zack requesting that they call with their findings as soon as they finished for the night. She was about to switch off the lamp on her nightstand when her phone rang, and she listened patiently as Cam summarized what they'd determined thus far.

"So?" Booth asked sleepily when she had finally ended the call. "Is it Megan Shaw?"

"No. Dental records weren't a match. This victim had a tattoo though, and Angela was able to use that for the ID. Her name was Judith Evans. She was sixteen when she went missing two years ago. Also from Shoreline. She was there with her sister and a couple of friends."

"Another kid," Booth muttered in disgust. "What else?"

"Cedar oil and a generic lacquer was used on both victims, but it was infused with a number of particulates and a spore of some kind. Hodgins is working on identifying those. He also got a match on the skin and hair removed from Stella's fingernails. It was her own."

"She pulled out her own hair?"

"It looks that way. She also had hundreds of small puncture marks all over her body. Like insect bites, but larger. If they were bites, there might be something left inside the wounds, so Hodgins is working on that too."

"Hodgins is gonna have a long night," Booth said flatly, wondering if he wasn't in for one too. It wasn't that he hadn't seen and heard worse in their line of work, but the fact that this had happened to teenage girls was disturbing.

"Yes. Zack identified fracturing on the phalanges and metacarpals of the second victim. Cam said that he told her about seeing similar injuries on a set of remains he'd seen in Iraq that had been...buried alive."

Booth sighed and folded her into his arms, willing away the nausea that her words had induced. He didn't want to think of anyone in a situation like that, but Brennan's experience with the Gravedigger made the images in his mind ten times more frightening.

"So we think it's the same person who killed them both, right?"

"Maybe," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. "Not enough evidence to be sure yet." They lay in silence, soothing each other with gentle caresses until Booth noticed that she had fallen asleep. He kissed the top of her head and held her a little more tightly in his arms, as though she were a talisman against his nightmares.

...And clowns.

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 **Damn those clowns. ;)**

 **Reviews please the muse. See you Saturday!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Welcome back, readers. :) A guest reviewed asking if there were 'more chapters' to this story, referring to the part of the summary that said 3 of 3. If you're just finding this series, please note that it is the third and final installment. Since S3 was shorter, this story will be too, but I'm not covering every episode in detail. Please make sure you read the series in order, or else you'll be a bit confused. :)**

 **A lot of this chapter follows the episode in terms of dialogue. I changed a few things here and there, but it's one of my favorite episodes, and I wanted to write it. As usual, there are inner thoughts and amped up sexual tension (not that it needed to be amped up in this episode, heh). There are added scenes at the end as well.**

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Chapter 9

Brennan made another early appearance at the lab the morning of Halloween, hanging her costume as well as Booth's in her office closet. She was the first to arrive, and she spent time analyzing both victims' x-rays and going over the team's findings from the night before. By the time Cam and Zack joined her on the platform, she'd been able to draw some new conclusions regarding the bones of the second victim.

"Judith Evans, sixteen. Our victim from the Dungeon of a Thousand Corpses," she began, gesturing between the body and the set of x-rays that were displayed on the large monitor. "There are stress fractures to both tibias as well as tears to the medial collateral and anterior cruciate ligaments in both knees. It was caused by the knees being drawn close to the chest for a long period of time. The condition is commonly referred to as Catcher's Knee."

"There's nothing in the bio about Judith Evans being a baseball player," Cam replied.

"Compressions to vertebrae C1 through C7 indicate that her neck was bent like this," Zack added, bending his neck until his chin was nearly touching his chest.

"But _forced_ ," Brennan clarified. Cam shook her head with a frown.

"I am not liking the picture that's forming inside my head," she said grimly. "Her phalanges cracked, her fingernails shredded, her head forced that way, her knees jammed up against her chest… Do we think Judith Evans was buried alive?" Neither Brennan or Zack seemed to want to confirm her theory, but Hodgins appeared on the platform before either of them could reply.

"I have another bad image of how Stella Higgins died," he said hesitantly. "Spiders."

"Spiders?" Brennan echoed, her forehead creasing between her brows.

"Tarantulas, to be specific."

"Those aren't poisonous," Brennan argued.

"No, but that doesn't make the bite any less painful." He went to another computer monitor and pulled up an odd looking 3D image. "This is an urticating hair from the theraphosinae family."

"It appears to be barbed," Zack observed.

"Yeah. It's very irritating. Tarantula hair was actually used for decades as the main ingredient in itching powder."

"So Stella Higgins was itching so badly that she pulled out her own hair," Cam surmised. "There were hundreds of bites all over her body, so I'd venture to say that there had to be dozens of tarantulas." Everyone but Hodgins shuddered slightly at the mental picture.

"I was operating under the assumption that the mysterious spore was transported by the tarantulas, but I was wrong."

"How do you know," Brennan asked.

"Because there are no tarantula hairs on Judith Evans, but plenty of the spores and particulates. She has carcinogenic dibenzopyrene isomers, asbestos, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, manganese, barium, and steel dust."

"Which adds up to…?" Cam encouraged.

"Internal combustion engines," Zack replied. Hodgins nodded in agreement.

"Traffic. Except for the steel dust. I have no clue about the steel dust," he admitted, shaking his head in consternation. Cam crossed the platform to a different computer terminal and pulled up the results of the toxicology screens she'd done on both victims.

"Stella's tox results show chloroform, ephedrine, theophylline, clonidine, and methamphetamine. Judith's remains show traces of the same compounds, but in different concentrations."

"Most of those are heavy stimulants. Ephedrine is synthesized adrenaline," Brennan frowned. "Their metabolisms would race; their heart rates would accelerate dangerously."

"Spiders, live burial, drug-induced panic… Is our murderer literally _scaring_ girls to death?" Cam suggested. The odds of that being an accurate theory were fairly high, but none of them seemed to want to say it out loud.

"I'll call Booth," Brennan said quietly, leaving the platform for the quiet solitude of her office.

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Booth spent part of the morning questioning Judith Evans' older sister, Sandra. She and her friends had taken Judith with them to the amusement park the night Judith had disappeared. Sandra explained that Judith had been claustrophobic and hadn't wanted to go into the funhouse. She'd promised to wait outside for them, but when Sandra and her friends had emerged, Judith had disappeared. She recalled that the employee working the entrance of the funhouse had told her that Judith had 'taken off with some guy.' When Booth showed her a photograph of Greg Liscomb, she confirmed that he was the employee in question.

Greg Liscomb turned out to be a registered sex offender, but when Booth and Brennan interrogated him, he didn't seem like someone who would have the nerve to kill anyone. He did, however, admit that he'd spoken to each of the victims as well as Megan Shaw. He and Lola, the overly-pierced faux redhead from the amusement park, had been running a sort of role-play scam with a number of teenage girls. Greg would lead them to a secluded area and make out with them, and Lola would interrupt and pretend to be outraged that her boyfriend was cheating on her. She would then 'smack the girls around a little' and send them on their way. It was their idea of foreplay.

Booth walked Brennan to the elevator so that she could return to the lab, promising her that he would handle Lola's interrogation on his own. He had decided to keep both Greg and Lola in custody for the night just to be on the safe side.

"Agent Booth."

"Yeah?" he replied, turning to see Charlie Burns falling into step beside them.

"I spoke with the Shaws and asked them if their daughter had any phobias."

"Yeah?"

"Snakes," Charlie nodded. "One crawled up out of the drain of her bathtub when she was a child."

"Okay, that's good. Thanks. Just call all the pet shops, the reptile specialists or whatever… See who's been buying lots of snakes." Charlie gave him a thumbs-up and headed in the opposite direction, while Booth and Brennan stepped into the elevator.

"Does Lola strike you as a snake person?" Brennan asked.

"I don't know, maybe. I'll bring her in and catch up with you later. I'm gonna have Sweets work up a profile of the killer too."

"You trust him to do that?"

"Well, I think we can solve this case without him, but if Megan Shaw is still alive, then we've gotta use every resource available, right? Besides, we're putting up with him for partners' therapy that you and I both know we don't need. The least he can do is help us out."

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Booth didn't get much information out of Lola, but he kept her in custody anyway. If she and her boyfriend were holding Megan Shaw somewhere, then keeping them locked up might at least buy the team a little time in which to determine her location.

When Brennan returned to the lab, she found Hodgins analyzing the mystery spores with a microscope while Cam leaned over his shoulder. Both were in costume; Hodgins as Captain E.J. Smith, and Cam as Catwoman. Brennan didn't immediately recognize the character, however, so she went with a generalized compliment.

"Is that your costume?"

"Uh, yeah," Cam nodded.

"It's sexually alluring," Brennan stated, mentally comparing her own costume to Cam's feline dominatrix number. Cam was slightly thrown off by the unexpected assessment but voiced her thanks.

"I'm Catwoman. The superhero."

"Oh," Brennan replied vaguely.

"One of the most powerful female superhero figures," Cam added.

"I don't think so," Brennan scoffed.

"Are you kidding?" Cam asked, slightly more incredulous than was really necessary. "Catwoman?"

"Can you fly?"

"I have nine lives."

"Super strength, super speed, force people to tell the truth?"

"I think I'm pretty fast."

"'Pretty fast' is not super speed."

"Hawaii," Hodgins announced, interrupting their argument as he came to stand in front of them. "The spore atronecium from the haleahi nebulae. It's a Hawaiian orchid hybrid."

"The victims were mummified in Hawaii?" Brennan asked in confusion.

"How else would Hawaiian pollen get absorbed into the wet lacquer?" Hodgins replied. Cam nodded, but Brennan was troubled by his findings. She had no idea how someone would've transported a mummy over such a long distance without getting caught, and if Megan Shaw was being held in Hawaii, it didn't bode well for their efforts to save her. _Assuming she's even still alive,_ Brennan thought with a sigh. Booth showed up a short while later, and they exchanged news as they put on their costumes.

"You know, watching you get into that outfit is entertaining, but it's not nearly as fun as getting you out of it," Booth smirked. He very much wished that they had time to lock her office door and fool around a bit, but he knew she was already regretting the time they had to surrender for the Halloween party. She gave him a salacious grin worthy of Angela.

"Did Sweets give you the profile?"

"Yeah…" Booth said, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from his wife and toward the file Sweets had given him. "He says that the killer is male, works alone, and has a respectable blue-collar job. In his public life, he's into saving people. He's unmarried, and he most likely has a police or military background."

"Other than the unmarried part, Sweets could be talking about you," Brennan replied casually, zipping up her boots to complete her Wonder Woman ensemble. Booth surreptitiously checked his chin for drool. As they walked from her office toward Angela's, her breasts bounced with each step, taunting him. Brennan was doing some staring of her own, taking a moment to recall how much they'd enjoyed each other's costumes the year before. So much, in fact, that they hadn't made it out of the house, let alone to the Halloween party.

"Something on your mind, Bones?" Booth teased, easily reading her expression once he'd actually looked at her face.

"Make sure you bring that lab coat back home," she grinned. "Oh, and your fly is unzipped."

"It's supposed to be," he laughed. "Squints never pay attention to stuff like that." Her brows contracted dangerously, and he backpedaled. "I mean, you know… stereotypically." His eyes drifted downward again of their own accord. "Are you sure we have to go to this party? There are gonna be a lot of guys, er...uh, people there, right?"

"Yes, we have to go," Brennan said, looking smug. "Don't get worked up about it. They might look, but you're the only one who gets to touch," she reminded him. Booth smiled happily at that though.

 _Kind of like bringing an action figure to show and tell but being the only one allowed to take it home and play with it after school,_ he mused. Booth opted _not_ to voice that particular thought, fully aware that if he did, there would be no _action_ of any kind for him tonight.

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When they entered Angela's office, they found that the rest of the team had changed into their costumes as well. As promised, Zack was wearing large cow-printed pants that draped around his body and were upheld by a pair of suspenders. Angela was dressed as Cher in a black bondage-style top and a rather spectacular feathered headdress. The feathers towered over everyone's heads by at least a foot.

"This star marks the location of Shoreline Amusement Park," Angela explained, showing them a map on her computer screen. The image panned upward to show three blinking triangles. "These are the pet shops that the FBI says sold out of snakes in the last week."

"How many snakes in total?" Brennan asked.

"Over a hundred," she replied. Cam guessed correctly that all purchases had been made with cash. "And the last place sold out about an hour ago," Angela added.

"Whoa. An _hour_ ago?" Booth echoed, pulling his fake eyeglasses off in alarm.

"Booth, Megan Shaw is still alive," Brennan said, nearly shouting.

"Well, Greg and Lola are in custody. Sweets was right; they didn't do it."

Cam shouted out the door for Hodgins and explained to the others that he had been working on isolating locations where the victims would have been exposed to the metal particulates he'd found in the lacquer. Unfortunately, at last count, he'd only managed to narrow it to a hundred and twenty six locations, not including Hawaii.

"No," Booth said sternly. "A hundred and twenty-six, that's not good enough." Hodgins entered the room looking expectant and picking up on the group's nervous energy.

"Megan Shaw is still alive," Brennan told him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"He wants us to guess," Zack replied, gesturing toward Booth with his eyes.

"Well, my guess is Hawaii."

"Not Hawaii," Cam disagreed.

"Guess again," Booth urged. "But better."

"Uh... sorry," he shrugged helplessly, shaking his head.

"Booth, they don't guess," Angela said.

"Who's they?"

" _Them!"_ Cam and Angela replied in unison.

"We do not guess," Zack said blandly.

"You know what? You're a horse's ass."

" _Cow_. I'm a _cow_. See my udder?" He indicated the ridiculous rubber udders on the front of his half-cow costume. Brennan was growing progressively more irritated.

"I need Zack and Hodgins. The rest of you can go to the party."

"How can we go to a party when a fourteen-year-old girl is being tortured to death by snakes?" Booth said in frustration.

"People like us can't work at full capacity with people like you constantly interrupting with irrelevancies," she snapped. Hodgins agreed with her, though he threw an apology in Angela's direction for good measure. Brennan tilted her head and looked apologetically at Booth, silently urging him to cooperate. Cam and Angela agreed to leave the room, but Booth refused to go further than a chair parked outside of Angela's open office door.

As Zack sat down at the computer, he made a nervous comment about his costume. It reminded Brennan of her previous argument with Cam.

"Who's stronger, Catwoman or Wonder Woman?" she asked.

"Wonder Woman," they answered loyally.

"I concur, _vehemently_."

Hodgins turned their attention back to the task at hand, and the three of them took turns coming up with ways to narrow down the list of possible locations. They used Sweets' theory about the killer's job status as well as the type of environment needed to achieve mummification, but it still didn't narrow the results to a practical number.

"The answer is in the anomalies," Brennan insisted. "The Hawaiian spore and steel dust. What makes it?"

"Grinding, drilling, abrading…"

"...Scraping, milling," Zack added absently.

"Train wheels…" Hodgins continued, suddenly looking hopeful. "When a train turns, it grinds the rails and creates steel dust."

"Subways are vented and also provide the warm, dry air needed for mummification," Brennan surmised. "Okay, Zack. What we need now are florists who carry Hodgins' Hawaiian flower and are situated directly over subway tracks."

She turned to leave the room, instructing them to call her when they'd located the florist. Booth had vacated the chair outside of Angela's office at some point, but she could hear his voice emanating from Cam's autopsy room. She decided to make a quick detour to her office so that she could retrieve her gun. When she'd passed the Bureau's marksmanship requirements, she'd moved one of her guns to a locked drawer in her office for the sake of convenience. She had briefly entertained the idea of purchasing one for the glove box of her car, but she'd thought that it might be somewhat superfluous.

"Let's go," Brennan said urgently when she reached Cam's office. Booth followed her through the sliding glass doors and down to the parking garage.

"You're sure about this?" he asked as he pulled the SUV out of the structure.

"Not at all," she admitted.

"Because you guessed."

"We do not guess," she argued, scowling at the smile on his face.

"I think you did. I dare you to put that Lasso of Truth around you."

"Now you're being completely irrational," she bickered back. "This lasso doesn't actually work. These bracelets aren't actually made of Amazonium. They're stainless steel; they can't stop a bullet." Booth muttered a placating 'Okay, Bones,' as her phone rang. She answered it in her usual manner and turned on the speakerphone.

"Aloha Floral Supply between Friendship Heights and Bethesda," Cam told them. "The store sits right over the Red Line." Brennan thanked her and ended the call, while Booth picked up the radio handset to contact the FBI dispatch office. He quickly requested backup and local police units to be dispatched to the location Cam had given them, but Brennan caught his attention by tugging on the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Oh… Please be advised that agents are UC dressed as a squint and Wonder Woman," he added. The dispatcher asked for clarification, and Booth wondered what the local cops would make of their costumes.

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The florist was closed when they arrived, so they went around the back of the building and found a padlocked vent leading underground. Booth shot the lock off of the door and descended the metal ladder first. Once Brennan was safely on the concrete floor as well, he cautiously aimed the beam of his flashlight through the darkness. The sound of the chamber of her gun rotating drew his attention, however.

"Okay, where did you even find a place to carry that?" he asked incredulously. She ignored him and gestured to a chained and gate several yards away.

"Look. Could I please shoot this one?" Booth frowned and tugged on the chain experimentally. It fell open obligingly, and Brennan looked disappointed. They pushed through the gate and further into the cavernous expanse of the underground structure. Brennan's eye was caught by an open doorway off to her right, and she murmured his name so that he could follow her in.

It a relatively small room, empty except for a long table in the center of the space. Several syringes littered its surface, and Brennan leaned down to check for scents of decomposition.

"Cedar oil… lacquer. This is where he mummified the bodies," she concluded. Booth spotted an empty medicine vial on the floor and used his foot to roll it so that he could read the label.

"Ephedrine, other… other drugs," he said speculatively. "I know who the murderer is."

"Who?" Brennan demanded, surprised at the certainty she could hear in his voice. Booth gestured for her to follow him from the room.

"Lola beats up the girls, leaves them bleeding. Who shows up to help? With access to drugs?"

"The EMT! _Smart_. You should wear a lab coat at all times," she replied, sounding somewhat hopeful.

Amidst the sounds of grinding train wheels and rushing air, they heard a feminine scream coming from another room somewhere in the structure. Booth told Brennan to stay back, and she followed him to yet another padlocked door. The girl screamed once again, sounding like she was just on the other side of the door.

"Can I shoot it?" Brennan asked eagerly. Booth had barely uttered the word ' _No'_ before she lifted her gun and fired at the lock. The bullet ricocheted and somehow grazed Booth's leg. He hopped on one foot, cursing fluently and chastising her. "Sorry! Are you alright? I think the bullet bounced off my bracelet."

He continued to clutch his injured leg, so Brennan stepped forward to remove the padlock and open the door. The floor of the room was littered with clusters of snakes, coiling around one another and filling the chamber with the sounds of their hissing. Brennan shrieked in alarm, and Booth turned to find her standing on a wooden crate.

"What are you doing? They're not poisonous."

"I know, I know," she said anxiously.

"Then why don't you come down?"

"It seems I'm not completely in control of my actions," she replied, managing to sound petulant and irritated at the same time. Booth sighed and came to stand in front of her, facing away.

"Just get on my back," he encouraged her. She obeyed, and he groaned at the intensified pain in his injured leg. They entered the room and spotted Megan Shaw cowering in the opposite corner. The expression on her face was one of complete terror, and she seemed incapable of regulating her breathing. "Megan?"

"It's okay," Brennan soothed, still clinging to Booth's back.

"Can you understand me?" he asked, concerned about the vacancy he saw in Megan's eyes. The girl screamed again, her eyes fixed on the open doorway, and Booth followed her gaze. Pete Geller stood in the doorway with a gun aimed at them, his face masked by the same clown face that had frightened Booth in the haunted house. Booth drew his own gun, but Brennan was faster. She fired a shot in Geller's direction, but the recoil caused Booth to lose his hold on her legs. She fell to the floor, knocking her head hard against the concrete wall.

"Ugh… My head," she winced, gingerly checking the impact point for blood.

"Just stop shooting at things, Bones."

"But he had a gun."

"You stay here. If anyone comes through this door, you shoot their head off. _Except me._ "

"My gun is too big for me," she admitted, holding it out to him.

"Pretty sure I've told you that a hundred times. Here take mine. Guard Megan." They traded weapons, and Booth disappeared through the doorway.

"Come on, Megan. Come here," Brennan said, speaking loudly enough for Megan to hear the words over her own sounds of distress. Megan obeyed, but her panicked cries seemed to be completely involuntary. Brennan put her arms around the girl's shoulders and hugged her tightly, trying to listen to the sounds outside of the room as well. "Megan, listen to me. I want you to close your eyes. The snakes won't hurt you. I won't let them hurt you. We're going to get out of here, and everything's going to be fine. But right now I need you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, okay?"

Brennan counted slowly, instructing Megan to inhale and exhale on every other count. It seemed to be working, but Brennan knew that they were fighting against chemically-induced panic. It wasn't simply a mind-over-matter situation. She was startled by the sound of gunfire outside of the room, and she adjusted her grip on Booth's gun, urging Megan to quiet down so that she could hear what was happening.

"How can a guy with military training miss with a scattergun? What were you? Navy?" Booth asked. Brennan could hear the sneer in his tone.

"Infantry," Geller shouted back. "Which is how I know that you're carrying a .50 caliber 500. Well, that's five shots...and by my count, you've only got one shot left." Another gunshot rang out through the darkness, and Geller's next words were even louder. "That's one dumbass gun to bring to a shootout! Where's your backup, Booth? Shouldn't they be here by now?"

Brennan shushed Megan and begged her to be quiet. She kept a firm grip on the girl as she inched toward the doorway. Megan's whimpering must've drawn Geller's attention, however, because the next shot hit the heavy metal door to the room they were in. Both women screamed.

"Bones, you alright?"

"We're okay. He's using you to get to us."

"Not for long, Booth," Geller taunted. "I'm just gonna stick my scattergun in there and empty the barrels. Your girl is gonna look like hamburger." One more shot was fired before Brennan heard her husband's voice again.

"One shot," he said clearly, firing the last bullet from Brennan's gun. "One hell of a shot." It passed through the metal door, and Brennan heard a grunt of pain and surprise. Geller collapsed to the floor and lay motionless. Brennan led Megan from the room cautiously, and the girl began to breathe more easily in the absence of the snakes. "Now can you see why I hate clowns?" Booth asked, pointing at the deflated clown mask lying next to Geller's body.

Brennan nodded mutely and eyed him in concern, checking his body for injuries. She spotted the hole in his lab coat and pushed it aside to reveal another hole and a bloodstain on his button-down shirt.

"I'm okay. Just another graze."

"You should go to the hospital."

"We'll see," he hedged. They helped Megan back to the metal ladder and up to the street level. Booth was relieved to see that their backup had indeed arrived. Geller's taunting comment about the fact that backup should've shown up by that point had concerned him. He had suspected that Geller might have injured someone before coming after them.

Brennan guided Megan to an ambulance and gave the EMTs a list of the drugs that were most likely in her system. She stayed with Megan until the ambulance left to take her to the hospital. Booth explained the situation to the SWAT team leader and was cleared to leave the scene a short while later. They decided to return to the lab briefly, but they found it empty. Everyone else had apparently decided to make an appearance at the Halloween party after all.

Brennan urged Booth to take a seat on the couch in her office, and he complied with a wince. She helped him to remove the lab coat and shirt so that she could see the wound on the right side of his abdomen. It was worse than the one on his leg, and she bit her bottom lip anxiously as she cleaned the area.

"You should go to the ER," she insisted.

"Nah, I'm okay. I can tell neither of them need stitches."

"You're not a medical professional."

"Neither are you," he smirked. "But you can clean me up some more when we get home… so long as I get to clean you up too." Booth grunted as he rose from the couch, kissing her softly in an attempt to ease her worries. She smiled reluctantly at his proposition.

"I think I can accommodate that request," she replied slyly. As she drove them home, she noticed how quiet he'd become and realized belatedly that he had been forced to take a life that evening. She'd been so focused on Megan and on his injuries that the full reality hadn't caught up to her. "I'm sorry you had to kill someone, Booth. I know you hate that."

"Yeah… He had it coming."

"You hate it. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Thanks, Bones." He gave her a sad, exhausted smile. When they got home, they helped one another out of their costumes and into the shower. Once Booth's wounds were properly bandaged, Brennan helped him into bed and gathered their abandoned clothing. "You should wash that costume, baby. So we can make good use of it another time." She raised her brows in surprise at the sexy grin on his face.

"I had every intention of doing so," she assured him with a calculating smile. "I'll wash and patch up that lab coat too. We are _definitely_ holding onto it."

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Booth scowled at his computer screen and jotted down a few notes from the email he was reading. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, wondering when he could expect his wife to return home. She'd been trying to visit Max once a week, though their caseload didn't always allow for it. Thanks to Booth's injuries, they had been given a week's worth of reprieve from new homicide cases after Halloween, and Booth was relieved to see Brennan's self-enforced work schedule return to normal. She was at the prison now, but he knew that she usually couldn't bear to stay longer than a half hour or so.

The electronic file he was reading was a police report from February of 1996. The body of Jack Campbell had been found in his home, the apparent victim of suicide by hanging. The man's obituary had listed funeral arrangements and a date of interment at a cemetery in Chicago. Booth had continued to dig through old records until he'd found the local precinct that had handled the case, and he'd called to make a request for the records. He had used his FBI credentials as a means of explaining his interest but had given his personal email and home address for contact information. The officer he'd spoken with had been predictably unenthusiastic about his request and had made it clear that it could take several weeks to process due to their current workload. Booth had sighed and thanked him; he hadn't been expecting _fast_ service.

Though he had received the email that morning, he'd decided to wait to open it until after Brennan left to visit Max. Booth had gotten into the habit of doing the majority of the legwork on his own, and he tried not to bring it up in conversation unless he had some sort of new information for her. He was pleased and more than a little proud that he had no trouble understanding the medical examiner's report on Jack Campbell. Lisa Campbell had claimed the body and made the funeral and burial arrangements, but she had declined a full autopsy on her husband's body. Since it had appeared to be suicide, the officer in charge had abided by her wishes, and the case had been closed quickly.

The medical examiner's report consisted of what Cam and Brennan would call a 'preliminary analysis.' However, in this case, that was the extent of the ME's investigation. There were citations of bruising around the neck, which had matched the police report's description of a suicide by hanging. The ME did note that Campbell's neck hadn't been broken; he had suffocated to death instead. Were it not for that one detail, Booth might have been content to pass it off as the suicide it had appeared to be, but his gut was telling him not to move on too quickly. That intuition was compounded by a mention of broken fingernails on both of Campbell's hands. The ME had shrugged it off as another self-inflicted wound.

"Booth?" Her voice echoed through the quiet house, and he snapped to attention involuntarily.

"In the office," he called back. Booth waited until she appeared in the doorway before asking about her visit with her father. "How was Max? Everything go alright?"

"It was fine," she shrugged. "Awkward, but that's nothing new." Brennan's eyes flickered to the computer screen, and she didn't need to ask what he was working on. "How about you? Anything new?"

"Maybe," he sighed. "Come look." Brennan crossed the room to stand next to him behind the desk, and he pulled her onto his lap so that she wouldn't have to hunch over as she read.

"Jack Campbell committed suicide?" Her disbelief was evident in her tone.

"Apparently. In 1996. The wife had him buried but skipped out on the full autopsy." He fell silent as she continued to read over the medical examiner's report.

"Self-inflicted defense wounds…" she mused aloud.

"Yeah, I thought that was odd too."

"Not really. Most people who commit suicide by hanging expect it to be quick. They expect their necks to break. Unfortunately for them, that doesn't always happen, and suffocation is much slower than you'd think. The body's natural reaction is to panic and fight for oxygen, which in this case would mean that he was most likely clawing at the ligature in attempt to save himself."

"So even when someone wants to die, their brain tries to talk them out of it."

"Something like that," she nodded.

"You think it _was_ a suicide then?"

Brennan made her squinty face of speculation and began to read the police report. There wasn't much to go on. The officers on the scene had been convinced that it had been a suicide, so the details of the report were perfunctory. She read it through twice before finally meeting his gaze.

"What do _you_ think?"

"I asked you first," he said with a gentle smile. She returned it but rolled her eyes a little.

"He didn't seem like the suicidal type… But then, this happened more than three years after the last time I saw him. He could've changed, I guess. The only thing that makes me a little suspicious is…"

"That he suffocated?" Booth offered when she trailed off. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"I didn't suffocate in that trunk, but it was very hard to breathe. He also… He told the social worker that I'd locked _myself_ in. Like I was trying to set him up or something because I 'didn't like his rules.' He intimidated one of the other kids into backing up his story, and of course his wife did too. They were never charged with anything."

Booth could feel his face flushing with the heat of his anger. He'd known that the Campbells hadn't been charged, but she'd never told him about the lies they'd used to keep themselves out of trouble. He took several deep breaths, tightening his arms around her waist as a means of anchoring himself. He couldn't afford to let his temper get the best of him again.

"So you're thinking it might be possible that it only _looked_ like a suicide? Since he told people that you'd harmed yourself? And the suffocation thing…"

"I don't know, Booth. Those circumstances are oddly similar, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have been a suicide."

"Hmm. Well, this is the first time we've come across a suspicious death that didn't end in cremation… Though I don't know that any judge would approve an exhumation, even if we were willing to share our reasons for suspecting foul play. It would be a hard sell."

"I know. We can't do that." Brennan curled herself against his chest and closed her eyes. "Do you think we're wasting our energy with this?"

"Not if it's what you need. Like I've said, the odds of actually being able to do anything about it are very slim, but maybe… Maybe if you're ever able to confront Max with enough information, he might tell you the truth. Based on what we've found so far, I'd imagine that even if there are others who died under suspicious circumstances, it's very doubtful that there will ever be enough evidence to prosecute. Just like with Delaney."

"He knew what he was doing," she said darkly. Booth didn't reply but turned his head to press his lips to her temple. They sat quietly for a few more minutes before Brennan pushed herself off of his lap and closed the laptop. "No more tonight. Let's go make dinner." Her smile was slightly forced, but he returned it anyway.

"Lead the way."

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 **So do you think Max killed this one? Or the others?**

 **More on Wednesday!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Morning, all! Thanks for the feedback. I'm glad you're still enjoying the series. I'm working on the scenes from Max's trial now, which of course is at the end of this season. When I finish the writing, I may speed up my posting schedule to every other day like it was for the last two stories. Sound good?**

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Chapter 10

Brennan lay in bed, floating in that comfortable limbo between slumber and cognizance. Something had pulled her from a very pleasant dream, and she was considering whether she would rather determine the source of the disruption or simply allow sleep to come back to her. Before she could make a decision either way, however, the disruption came again in the form of her husband's hand kneading her breast. He moaned softly from behind her, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck.

She opened her eyes slightly, surprised to see that the room was not completely dark. It was lit by the cool, pre-dawn light peeking through their window blinds. Booth's arms were wound so tightly around her that she was unable to lift her head to see the clock on her nightstand, but she managed to turn far enough for a better look at his face.

He was asleep… and apparently having a particularly nice dream of his own. His hard length pressed into her backside, and his hips were twitching. Brennan watched his lips curve into a soft smile as his hold on her breast tightened. It wasn't painful or uncomfortable, but there was certainly no chance of her going back to sleep now. She lay quietly in his arms for several minutes, content to simply watch his eyes dancing behind his lids as she considered what to do. She wanted to wake him with her mouth, but he was clutching her so tightly that trying to move out of his arms would probably rouse him.

She settled for using her hand instead, reaching behind her to slip her left hand into his boxers. Brennan stifled a moan of appreciation as her fingertips found the satin-wrapped steel, already producing moisture from the tip. Booth grunted and pushed his hips forward instinctively. Uncertain as to whether or not the motion was completely involuntary, she turned her head toward him again. His eyes were open this time, and they were dark with lust. Booth smiled deviously at her, his face inches away from her own.

"Good morning," he whispered, his voice raspy from sleep.

"How good?" Brennan grinned.

" _Very_ good." He buried his face into her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her and leaving a trail of kisses from her pulse-point to the soft skin beneath her ear. He groaned as the movements of her hand became more deliberate, no longer merely exploring. Booth realized somewhat belatedly that he was squeezing her breast, and he immediately relaxed his hand. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," she chuckled. "But you _did_ wake me up."

"You woke me up too."

"Well, you seemed to be having a nice dream, but I thought perhaps I could improve upon it. Maybe I'm overly ambitious," she shrugged, stroking him from head to base and back again.

"One way to find out."

Brennan felt the moisture pooling between her thighs, and she wiggled out of her panties as he pushed them over her hips. She started to help him out of his boxers, but he held her hand firmly in place, silently indicating that he much preferred her hand to stay exactly where it was. They were both lying on their right sides, and Booth's right bicep was supporting her head. His elbow was bent so that his hand rested upon her breasts, and his fingertips teased her nipples gently. He paused only to slip his hand into her shirt. They shifted slightly to align their bodies, and she guided him slowly into her.

"Oh God, Bones…" he moaned. The angle made the penetration somewhat shallow, but her closed thighs made everything tighter and more sensitive. He moved slowly within her, his right hand still caressing the soft flesh of her breasts while his left snaked over her hips and downward to the apex of her thighs.

Brennan matched the slow, erotic pace of his hips, gasping when his fingertips made contact with her clit. His lips and tongue were worshipping the smooth skin of her neck and shoulder, and she was reminded of the only thing she disliked about this position. She couldn't kiss him. He seemed to be doing his damnedest to leave a love bite in her shoulder, however, and she couldn't find the will to chastise him for it.

As his fingers brushed against the place where their bodies were joined, she felt the first tremors of release rock through her body, and she spoke his name in a soft cry as she broke. Booth wanted to lie there and make love to her all morning, but he was already overworked from his dream and her previous ministrations. Her walls spasmed and clenched him tightly, and he clung to her, trembling as he flooded her body.

They held each other for several long minutes, and when he finally slipped out of her warmth, their breathing had nearly returned to normal. Brennan turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his, kissing him with a passion that left him breathless once more. Their tongues teased one another, their teeth lightly nipping each other's lips. When at last they separated, Booth quirked an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"I like kissing you while we make love," she explained. He smiled in understanding and kissed her again, stopping only when the alarm went off on her nightstand. Brennan reached over to silence it and returned to his arms immediately.

"Wish we didn't have to work today," he whined, his words muffled slightly as he buried his face in her hair.

"We don't have a case," she reminded him, implying that it would probably be an easy day.

"Yeah, which means the day will drag _on_ and _on_ …" Booth sighed in disappointment. They hadn't had a case since Halloween, so he'd caught up on his office work, and he hated being bored at work.

"Well… we can meet for lunch," she offered, knowing that he probably would've just shown up with food anyway. Booth pulled back slightly to meet her gaze and rewarded her with the kind of smile that made her momentarily consider calling in sick.

"Sounds good, baby. Maybe we could 'meet' in the supply closet," he said, waggling his brows comically. Brennan giggled at his antics but didn't argue with the idea.

Booth followed her into the shower, taking her against the tile wall before eventually getting around to helping her wash. By the time they had managed to get dressed, they had only minutes to spare before they needed to leave for work. They drove separately, as they usually did when they didn't have a case. Booth stopped her before she climbed into her car, pulling her into his arms for one more steamy kiss. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused when he released her, and he smirked in satisfaction.

"See you at lunch."

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Booth was pleasantly surprised to see Brennan's name on his caller ID after only a couple of hours, and he answered the phone with a smile on his face.

"Need to visit that supply closet already, Bones?"

"Uh… No, that's…" she faltered at his unexpected greeting, but another voice came over the speakerphone before she could collect herself.

"What supply closet might that be, Seeley?"

"Hi, Camille," Booth groaned. "Nevermind. What's going on? Something wrong?"

"Yes, we have a crime scene," Brennan replied, happy to change the subject.

"Where?"

"Here."

"At the lab?" he asked in alarm. He was instantly on his feet and shrugging into his suit jacket. "What happened?"

"At the Jeffersonian, but not in the lab," Cam corrected. "A body was found in the incinerator shaft."

Booth winced in disgust but was relieved that Brennan and her squints were alright. He assured them that he would be there soon and made his way to the Jeffersonian as quickly as possible. Booth stopped by the security office to pick up a copy of the visitor log, and a guard showed him down to the basement level. He'd only been in that area of the building a few times before, when they'd first moved the artifacts from the cannibal case to the Jeffersonian. Cam and Brennan were already there, and he overheard their conversation as he approached.

"At four hundred degrees, bone chars in six hours and turns to ash in eight," Brennan announced. The two women directed the beams of their flashlights into the incinerator chamber.

"Charring, but no ash," Cam replied. "Six to eight hours? Dumped into the incinerator between one and three a.m."

"Ugh," Booth groaned as he reached them and peeked over their shoulders. The body was mostly blackened from the fire, and the smell of burnt flesh was overpowering. "Alive or dead before he or she went into the incinerator?"

"Can't tell yet," Cam answered. Brennan glanced back at him and spotted the book in his hands.

"What's that?"

"Guest log," he replied, flipping to the most recent entries. "No visitors checked out after 9:36 last night, and no one checked in before 8:02 this morning."

"Meaning the victim probably works here," Cam surmised.

" _Meaning the killer does too,"_ Brennan emphasized, frowning. The three traded nervous looks, and Cam stepped away to call the forensic techs from the lab to transport the body to her autopsy room. They x-rayed the body, and Brennan studied the images while Cam began her analysis of the tissue.

"Pubic bone is female," Brennan observed aloud.

"There's no carbon in the trachea. She was dead before she was thrown down the chute," Cam revealed. They both breathed a sigh of thanks for that small favor.

"Extensive fissures, fractures, and breaks to the entire skeleton… I'll have Zack determine which were caused by heat and which by trauma."

"Heads up," Angela said as she entered the room. "They called Bancroft in from a hearing on the hill."

"Who's Bancroft again?" Brennan asked. She recalled their investigation into the murder of Terrance Bancroft earlier that year, but she could only recall meeting his widow.

"God," Cam answered dryly.

"The supreme honcho of the Jeffersonian," Angela clarified.

"I've probably met him then," Brennan said vaguely. After so many years of donor banquets and galas, the names and faces began to blur together.

"Okay, I'm ready to start the facial reconstruction." Angela sounded rather upbeat considering the fact that she was standing in a room with a set of charred remains, and Brennan glanced at her briefly before removing the skull from the body. She carried it to a nearby table and placed it on a stand.

"I haven't put on the tissue depth markers yet, and Cam will need to remove the carbonized brain matter. After she's finished, I'll have Zack clean the skull…" Brennan trailed off when she caught sight of Angela's face again. The artist's eyes were locked on the victim's skull, but her gaze was slightly unfocused. Her jaw was slack, and her expression indicated that she was disturbed by something. Brennan had to repeat her name several times to get her attention. When Angela finally snapped out of it, she muttered a quick reassurance that she was fine and asked them to let her know when the tissue markers were placed. She was gone from the office before either Cam or Brennan could say another word.

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While Zack worked to clean the skull, Brennan went to check on Angela in her office. She found her sitting at her computer with a devastated expression.

"You won't like it," Angela announced when she spotted Brennan in the doorway.

"Like what?"

"I've ID'ed the victim."

"That's impossible," Brennan argued, crossing the room to stand next to her chair.

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"There are no tissue markers; you can't just look at a skull and see the person," Brennan insisted. Angela looked up at her, and her features softened a little.

"Sweetie, I've done hundreds of these reconstructions." She pointed at the image of the ruined skull on her computer screen. "The depressed labella, the narrow nasal aperture, the chipped lateral incisor…"

"You can see a face from that?"

"The chipped tooth was from a skiing accident when she was sixteen," Angela replied sadly. Brennan's expression shifted from incredulity to sympathy.

"Ange… You knew the victim personally?"

"Kristen Reardon," Angela sighed, clicking the mouse to display a Jeffersonian employee badge on the screen. "She's an intern. We had coffee a couple times." She rose from her chair and moved away to escape the image of Kristen's smiling face. "She didn't want to be a scientist. She wanted to go into design. She was just here to make her father happy. She was young and eager and keen and… She was just really, really young."

"Wait, Reardon… As in _Dr. Ted Reardon?_ "

"Yeah, he used to work here."

"I took a course from him in ancient pharmacology," Brennan recalled, sinking into a chair across from her friend.

"Look, I know that we can't say anything until you do the tissue markers and we go through channels, but I'm telling you… This is Kristen."

"Poor Ted." Brennan shook her head sadly.

"You want to know something else? She was seeing somebody who worked here."

"Is that relevant?"

"Well, Booth will think so," she replied. Brennan nodded, knowing that she was right. "Especially since it was a married man."

"Well, did she tell you who it was?"

"No, just that they'd had their first kiss at the opening of that Egyptian exhibit and that it had been hot and heavy ever since."

Brennan nodded as she recalled taking Booth and Parker to see the artifacts and mummification specimens before the exhibit had opened. They'd had an active case at the time of the actual opening, however, and she hadn't been able to attend.

"Do you really think somebody we see every day could've thrown Kristen into the incinerator?"

Brennan frowned, hating the thought as much as Angela did. The Jeffersonian had always felt sacred to her in a way. She had considered it her home for many years, at least until she'd found her true home with Booth. The idea that such violence had happened in her own personal sanctuary was reprehensible.

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On the surface, Booth's conversation with Dr. Bancroft was polite and professional. Bancroft expressed his eagerness to cooperate with Booth's investigation and answered his questions with apparent honesty. Booth, however, couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something off about him. Bancroft had described the scientists at the Jeffersonian as a group of people who were naturally predisposed to be difficult, combative, skeptical, and resistant. His tone was gracious and indulgent as he spoke the words, but his eyes were cold. Booth gritted his teeth slightly at the man's disparaging remarks, but he made no argument, hoping to coax some level of trust from the older man. Bancroft admitted that he had managed to force Ted Reardon out of his position at the Jeffersonian, but he claimed that it was due to Reardon's poor skill as an administrator.

After Bancroft left the lab, Booth made his way to Brennan's office but stopped short when he saw that she had a guest. He took in the man's aggrieved expression and realized that he must have been Ted Reardon. Brennan was informing him of his daughter's death. Booth hesitated, wondering if she might need his support for this conversation, but he decided instead to wait until she was finished. When Brennan eventually stepped out of her office, she spotted him and motioned for him to follow her to the Bone Room. The bones weren't clean yet, so the exam table stood empty, but she was more interested in privacy.

"You okay, Bones?" Booth asked softly.

"I've never had to tell someone his child is dead. I mean, I've been there when you did it, but to actually… It's extremely unpleasant," she replied, fighting the urge to pace around the room. Booth nodded sympathetically.

"I'm sure you did fine," he soothed. "It's good that he heard the news from someone he knows. Believe it or not, that helps." Brennan nodded but didn't reply, shifting her weight anxiously. "Did you get a chance to ask him about his daughter's love life?"

"Yes, he said that as far as he knew, she wasn't seeing anyone."

"Kristen was lying to her father," Booth concluded, shaking his head slightly. Before Brennan could reply, they were interrupted by a man who addressed Brennan from the doorway.

"Dr. Brennan, is it true? Kristen Reardon is dead?"

"Evan," Brennan greeted him, nodding a silent answer to his question and gesturing to her husband. "This is Special Agent Booth. He's in charge of the murder investigation. Booth, this is Dr. Klimkew, Kristen Reardon's supervisor."

" _Murder?_ Kristen was murdered?" Klimkew asked, looking even more alarmed than when he walked into the room. Klimkew was somewhat short for a man, and Booth could tell by his wardrobe that he didn't work in the lab. He wore a tie and sweater set beneath a blazer rather than the blue labcoat to which Booth had become accustomed.

"What did Kristen do at the Jeffersonian?" Booth inquired politely.

"Authentications. Other museums and high end collectors use us to authenticate their acquisitions."

"Is that a big department?"

"Three to five interns, all doctoral candidates, my assistant, and myself," the man shrugged. "That's it."

"It's a competitive environment, right?"

"Of course. You put a bunch of neurotic, type-A overachievers together, and you dangle a prize over their heads."

"Dr. Klimkew is referring to the Bates fellowship," Brennan explained.

"The top intern receives seventy-five thousand dollars and a gold star on their resume. Kristen was the frontrunner."

"I'd heard that her heart wasn't in it," Brennan said, thinking back to her conversation with Angela.

"Didn't show in her work," Klimkew shrugged. "God, this is terrible. Does her father know?" Booth ignored his question and asked one of his own.

"Who was the main rival for the Bates money?"

"Uh, that would be Neil Tyler."

"Where can I find him?"

"We're authenticating the artifacts in your serial killer vault."

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Booth and Brennan found Neil Tyler precisely where Klimkew promised he would be, and they watched as he bent over some sort of medallion with a small magnifying glass. Brennan made introductions again, and Tyler greeted them politely before explaining what had intrigued him about the particular artifact he'd been studying.

"The spinner appears to be Masonic in origin. Bloodstone and gold. What's interesting is…" He paused to place the medallion under a medial cam so that its image was displayed for them on the computer screen. "In the center, instead of the traditional 'G' for 'God,' there's a skull."

"Gormogon iconography," Brennan murmured, equally fascinated.

"Strange, huh?" Tyler said, glancing back at her. "I've been seeing a lot of that in here."

" _Gormogon?"_ Booth echoed, feeling lost. "Okay...what's that?"

"It's an eighteenth century-"

"It's an extinct group dedicated to eradicating the influence of the Freemasons and Illuminati in Europe in the eighteenth century," Tyler explained, interrupting her in his eagerness. "This could be the largest collection of Gormogon artifacts in the world."

"That's great," Booth replied passively before directing the conversation back to their more recent investigation. "You and Kristen Reardon were here last night?"

Tyler answered all of Booth's questions openly, explaining that he had signed out around midnight but that Kristen had stayed longer. That hadn't been unusual for her, and Tyler seemed to resent her position as frontrunner for the Bates fellowship. He felt that she had fallen back on nepotism, while he had worked his way through state college with multiple jobs. He felt that he needed the fellowship more than Kristen had. When Booth questioned him about their relationship, Tyler assured her that they had been friendly but nothing more, since he was gay. He excused himself from the room, and Brennan walked over to Kristen's work station to snoop around. She came across a black leather purse, which contained the woman's wallet and cell phone.

They took the purse back upstairs to the lab and sorted through its contents, finding nothing particularly helpful. Booth sent the information from her cell phone to Charlie so that they could get the complete phone records, and by the time he had finished his conversation, Brennan was no longer in the room.

"I'm up here," she called down from the catwalk. Booth frowned slightly but wasted no time in joining her. Once he had reached her, she continued, "The bag tells us that Kristen was leaving the museum when she met with her killer."

"Well, there are a lot of calls from the same number on her phone. Let's hope it's the cheating husband."

"Booth, Kristen was authenticating artifacts from the Gormogon vault," Brennan said in an almost conspiratorial tone.

"Let's not go there."

"If Gormogon killed her, then Gormogon is one of _us_. Somebody who works at the Jeffersonian."

"You went there," he sighed.

"What?"

"You went there, and you gave him a nickname-" His words were interrupted by the sight of a large object falling past the large window. It had looked to be roughly the size of a human being. Booth looked back at her with an odd expression. "That just happened, right? You saw that?"

Brennan nodded in dismay, and they quickly made their way out of the building. Directly opposite the window they'd been standing near was an alley of sorts, but it wasn't a dead body they discovered on the pavement.

"You've got to be kidding me," Booth muttered, rolling his eyes at the sight of the broken dummy as well as the men responsible for the mess. Zack and Hodgins were being apprehended by Jeffersonian security, but Booth waved them off. "What's with the dummy, dummies?" he asked the squints.

"It's not a dummy," Zack corrected him. "It's an ersatz skeleton made from glass and reinforced nylon, which breaks exactly like human bone."

"We threw it from the top floor," Hodgins beamed proudly.

"Explicate your process, please," Brennan instructed, her hands resting on her hips. She didn't know whether to be irritated or amused. Zack and Hodgins took turns explaining their experiment and their findings, and Brennan was pleased that they had at least gleaned _some_ new information from their antics. The body had been put into the trash chute on the top floor of the building, which was the only level high enough from the bottom of the incinerator to create the skull fractures they'd found. As Booth and Brennan turned to walk back toward the lab, Booth heard Hodgins announce that he was 'King of the Lab.'

Cam discovered that the cause of death for Kristen Reardon had been extreme sharp force trauma to the chest. Her aorta had been severed and one of her lungs had collapsed immediately. The most frequently dialed number on Kristen's phone traced back to Dr. Kyle Aldrich, who worked in the Middle East department. His office was on the top floor of a neighboring building, but it was connected by skywalk to the top floor of the main building.

While Brennan and a handful of forensic techs swept Aldrich's office and workroom, Booth questioned him about his relationship with Kristen. Aldrich practically emitted an aura of arrogance, and Booth was certain he would've disliked him even if the man hadn't been a murder suspect. Before he could get much information out of him, however, they were interrupted by a forensic tech who asked Booth to join the team in Aldrich's office.

They had found evidence of copious amounts of blood at one of the work stations, on the floor, and inside of a rolling cart that was typically used to transport artifacts. It had clearly been used to transport Kristen's body to the trash chute. Booth arrested Aldrich and booked him on suspicion of homicide.

"Let's head home, Bones. It's late." Booth had returned to the lab to find her still working with the techs, and he was surprised that she acquiesced without dispute. He guided her from the room with a hand at the small of her back. "You hungry?" Brennan glanced at him and shrugged a little, her lips curving gently upward.

"I could eat."

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They carpooled to work the next morning, and Brennan spent the majority of the drive on speakerphone with the rest of her team as they got an early start on the evidence. She was somewhat surprised that the rest of them had come in so early, but she understood that they were all as troubled by the case as she was. No one liked to think of something like this happening at the Jeffersonian.

"The C7 vertebra and the fifth rib were both nicked at a sixty-seven degree angle, suggesting a single point of entry that is consistent with the trauma to the left lung and aorta," Zack announced, apparently addressing Cam, who followed with a question.

"Through the back?"

"Yes."

"The serial killer eats human flesh," Angela argued. "Kyle Aldrich is a vegetarian."

"So was Hitler," Hodgins countered.

"We're calling him Gormogon now," Zack corrected her. Hodgins quickly approved of the name for its historical accuracy.

"People!" Cam practically shouted. "You have to stop assuming that Gormogon was in any way involved in Kristen's death." Booth nodded approvingly and glanced at Brennan with a gloating expression.

"See?" he whispered. "Cam doesn't think it's the cannibal either." They hadn't really gotten back to their disagreement the previous evening, but like Cam, Booth was reluctant to combine the two investigations. His gut was telling him that the Gormogon connection was irrelevant, and he would trust his intuition until the evidence proved otherwise. Brennan nodded placatingly at him and turned her attention back to the discussion of the evidence.

"Zack provided me with these fragments retrieved from the fifth rib," Hodgins explained, no doubt showing them said fragments as he spoke. "I'm running them through the GC Mass Spec."

"What about the incinerator?" Cam asked.

"I analyzed the ashes in the incinerator and found carbonized traces of cedrus libani. It's a species of cedar fir from Lebanon."

"The Middle East is Aldrich's area of study," Angela reminded them.

"And the Mesopotamians used cedar as an odor neutralizer to mask the smell of burning flesh," Hodgins added, sounding pleased. They theorized about whether or not Kyle Aldrich was capable of murdering his girlfriend and using his knowledge to conceal the crime, but none of them knew Aldrich well enough to speculate either way. Booth and Brennan went to the Hoover together that morning to interrogate Aldrich, and he surprised her by suggesting that she go in alone.

"Why me?" she asked curiously.

"Because he thinks I'm stupid."

"You're not!" Brennan assured him quickly, angry on his behalf.

"Thanks, Bones. I know," he soothed. "Listen, during the interrogation, always refer to the victim by her first name." Now she was frowning at him in confusion.

"You're the one who told me that personalizing the victim doesn't work with sociopathic serial killers. They lack all empathy. _You_ told me that."

"We are not looking for 'Gorgonzola' today," he argued, making air quotes around his mockery of the new nickname.

"Gormogon," she corrected. " _Gor-mo-gon."_ He rolled his eyes, silently begging her to let it go.

"We're looking for someone who murdered _one_ girl and tossed her down an incinerator shaft. Entirely different kind of guy, so… Inside," he instructed, shooing her into the interrogation room. She shushed him for bossing her around but entered the room anyway. When Booth walked into the observation room, he was mildly surprised to see Ted Reardon standing in front of the two-way glass. He moved to stand next to the older man, as Brennan seated herself across from Aldrich in the next room.

"Kyle Aldrich seduced my daughter?" Reardon asked quietly.

"That's what we hope to find out, doc." Booth flipped the switch that would allow them to listen to Brennan's conversation with Aldrich.

"It was definitely Kristen's blood on your work table," she said frankly.

"That proves only that she was killed in my work room," Aldrich replied, looking arrogant as ever. "Why am I talking to _you?_ " Brennan ignored the question.

"What time did you leave the Jeffersonian that night?"

"Shortly after eleven," he replied, leaning forward in his seat. "Dr. Brennan, surely I merit someone higher up the food chain than an FBI consultant."

"Kyle…" She met his challenge with a sweet smile and leaned forward as well. "I know you get everything you want by flaunting your superior intellect, but that won't work with me," she said smoothly.

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm smarter than you are," she smirked. "So why don't you do the _rational_ thing and cut to the chase." She sat back in her seat, but her eyes never left his. "Were you having an affair with Kristen?"

"I'm not willing to comment on that." Aldrich wore a smug expression of his own, but Booth could detect his underlying irritation.

"I know you were. You first kissed her at the opening of the Egyptian exhibit."

"Obviously Kristen was indiscreet," Aldrich replied blandly.

"If your wife knew about Kristen, she'd leave you, correct? And you'd no longer be rich," Brennan surmised, using the scant information Booth had gotten out of the man the previous evening. She leaned forward again and met his gaze with her clear, unwavering blue eyes. "See, the FBI, they call that a motive. They think you did this, Dr. Aldrich, and so far, the evidence is on their side. Can you tell me anything that would suggest otherwise?"

"Yes… But first I need to speak with a lawyer and make arrangements with a federal prosecutor," he replied, his smirk back in place.

"Sounds like you want to cut a deal."

"I've told you what I need. So either have me arrested or let me make those arrangements." Aldrich sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, clearly done with the conversation. Brennan rose from her seat and left the room to join Booth. Dr. Reardon thanked her for her help but excused himself quickly, fighting to keep his emotions under control.

"Was it okay?" she asked nervously, her previous confidence faltering slightly.

"You did great, Bones," he smiled. "Really. I'm proud of you." And he was. Booth remembered how awkward she used to be around suspects, and although she still had those moments occasionally, her confidence in the field had risen exponentially. He'd seen it before, but it had been particularly noticeable as he'd watched her interrogate Aldrich. She had handled the arrogant creep almost exactly as Booth would have, and he couldn't be prouder of her.

"Thanks," Brennan smiled back, feeling reassured. "So what happens now?"

"His lawyer will work something out with the prosecutor. Sounds like he's got something to share. Unless we get new evidence, we'll have to cut him loose anyway though." Brennan scowled but didn't argue. She'd helped with enough of these cases to understand the rules.

As Booth predicted, Aldrich was released only a few hours later, but Brennan saw him the next day, much sooner than she'd expected. He was on Cam's autopsy table.

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 **I know this one was a lot of case talk, but the next chapter will be much more AU. Nearly all of it, in fact. I just scanned through it to check. Review if you have a moment, and have a wonderful day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hope everyone's having a great weekend! Thanks, as always for the great feedback. I love reading your thoughts! Oh, and to the guest who commented that she wanted hot Booth morning sex... well, really, who doesn't? ;)**

 **As promised, this chapter is quite a bit more off-script than the last couple. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 11

The metal fragments Hodgins had found in the wound in Kristen Reardon's chest cavity turned out to be copper that was over eight hundred years old. He and Angela searched the Jeffersonian's artifact database for copper weapons and discovered that a copper spear tip had been checked out from the Gormogon vault to Dr. Aldrich two weeks prior. A quick test proved that the artifact was _not_ the murder weapon, but when he volunteered to return the object to its place within the vault, he discovered Dr. Aldrich's body.

"Booth saw Aldrich's widow," Brennan told Cam as she entered the autopsy room. Cam had just finished the autopsy. "He sent her a suicide note by email, apologizing for the affair with Kristen and confessing to the killing."

"Aldridge didn't kill himself," Cam replied with certainty. "The ligature, which was a silk cord from the vault, didn't break they hyoid."

"Then what was the cause of death?"

"I'm stumped," Cam admitted. "There's no significant trauma, no cardiac arrest, aneurysm, or hematoma. Plus, I did a full tox screen. Organics, inorganics, heavy metals, even cardiac glycosides… all negative." Before Brennan could reply, they were interrupted by Hodgins, who was carrying an evidence tray.

"This cord is actually a hanging rope from England, circa 1650. In those days, when sentenced to death, nobles often chose a silk cord rather than rough hemp and rope." He held the cord in his gloved hands and looked at it speculatively. "It would be cool to know who else might've died on this cord… Anyway, the killer left DNA. In order to hoist Aldridge, the killer wrapped the cord around his forearm and pulled."

"Ouch," Cam winced. "He left some skin behind?"

"Yeah, and hair."

"Nice job, Hodgins. When we find the guy, we can do a DNA match."

"King of the Lab," he announced with a proud smile as he backed out of the room.

"The skeletal muscles are pulling away from the bone. What was his potassium level?" Brennan asked, studying the autopsy x-rays. Cam turned to pick up the autopsy report file and skimmed the numbers quickly.

"Blood serum contains ten milligrams per one-hundred milliliters. Elevated, but non-fatal. It's odd though, because his kidneys were healthy; no signs of Addison's or any medication."

"Succinylcholine," Brennan surmised.

"A muscle relaxant?"

"In high doses, it stops the heart and lungs, and the body turns it into potassium. Your tox screen wouldn't have detected it. Succinylcholine is one of the earliest anesthetics known to man." Brennan smiled with the satisfaction that came from being right, and Cam nodded in agreement.

"I read Dr. Reardon's book too," Cam replied.

"I know this will influence Booth to put Ted Reardon at the top of his suspect list, but I really don't think he could have done this."

"Even after what happened to his daughter?"

Brennan was of course hesitant to jump to any conclusion, but she didn't want to believe that her former teacher was capable of murder. She sighed, chewing her bottom lip slightly as she left the room without answering Cam's question. She called Booth and gave him a quick summary of the latest findings, and he promised to let her know the outcome of his interrogation of Dr. Reardon. Brennan offered to question the man herself, but Booth felt that she might be a little too close to the situation.

Treating grieving loved ones like suspects was easily one of the worst parts of Booth's job. As a father, he was predisposed to empathize with a parent who had just lost their child, so he was relieved that his interrogation effectively cleared Reardon as a suspect. The killer might have used a method familiar to the man, but Reardon willingly rolled up his sleeves at Booth's request. The hanging cord would have left abrasions on the killer's forearm, and Reardon's arms were unmarked.

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After speaking to Reardon, Booth picked up some lunch and headed to the lab. He found Brennan in her office, and her welcoming smile grew even more appreciative when she saw the bag in his hand.

"Lunchtime," he grinned.

"Thanks." Brennan signed her name to the form she'd been reading and followed him to the sofa.

"You guys turn up anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Hodgins thinks that the murder weapon was most likely bronze rather than copper. Copper is an ingredient in bronze, and he postulated that the copper fragment might have been an unalloyed chip from a larger piece of bronze."

"Okay, so where does that leave us?"

"Well, there are a lot of bronze weapons in the Jeffersonian, but none of them are in the vault. It would take too long to check every single one of them, so Angela ran a simulation. The bone trauma indicates a sixty-seven degree angle, and for that to have been caused by stabbing, Kristen's assailant would have to have been at least six-foot-eight and three hundred pounds. Obviously, no one at the Jeffersonian looks like that, so we're now going with the theory that Kristen was impaled. She must have fallen onto an artifact that was at a fixed sixty-seven degree angle."

"Well, that should narrow the search," Booth replied, swallowing mouthful of his turkey club.

"Yes. There's something else…" Brennan frowned in concern, and Booth sat forward, listening attentively. "Dr. Bancroft showed up in Angela's office while she was explaining her simulation to Cam and the others. He made it sound like Kristen's death must've been an accident and that Aldridge had panicked and disposed of the body before ultimately killing himself. Cam told him that the _evidence_ actually indicates that Aldridge was murdered as well, but Bancroft seemed more interested in coming up with a story that would satisfy a jury."

"That doesn't surprise me. The guy's a sleaze, only cares about his bottom line. He's worried about the potential damage to the Jeffersonian's reputation if there ends up being a long, drawn out trial."

"Yes, but he actually made Angela feel threatened. He told her that if _he_ were the killer, she would be his next target, since she made the ID and managed to recreate Kristen's death," Brennan said nervously. Booth scowled, mentally moving Dr. Bancroft to the top of his suspect list.

"I would think that he wouldn't be stupid enough to implicate himself if he actually _were_ the killer, but it certainly sounds like he's determined to cover things up, for one reason or another. He's not wrong about possible targets, though. None of you should be going anywhere alone until we solve this thing."

They finished their lunch quickly and left Brennan's office to check in with the rest of the team. Hodgins had arranged a number of bronze weapons upon several tables, but his analyses hadn't turned up any evidence of recent bloodstaining.

"I've checked every bronze weapon in the Jeffersonian that matches Angela's criteria, but none are consistent with the copper fragments," he announced.

"Well, then obviously we're looking for something that was smuggled in," Booth shrugged. Brennan chuckled derisively, and Hodgins was shaking his head. "What?"

"There is no way to smuggle an eight-hundred-year-old weapon into the Jeffersonian," Brennan declared.

"No, no. We have x-rays, guards, metal detectors…" Hodgins agreed, smiling confidently.

"If you come in with anything bigger than a watch, they search you," she added.

"Well… You two are geniuses. How would _you_ do it?" Booth asked.

"It's absolutely impossible," Hodgins insisted. Brennan tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Unless you mail it," she suggested.

"Oh," Hodgins said, surprised. "Yeah, right, there's that."

"Mail it?" Booth asked.

"If you mail something to the Jeffersonian, it doesn't need to be cleared by customs or security," Brennan explained.

"Okay, you're saying that if I want to get a stolen artifact into the United States, all I have to do is mail it to the Jeffersonian?" he asked dubiously. It seemed far too easy.

"Technically, yes, but we check and report all items to the government."

"Okay, who's 'we?'"

"The authentications department," Hodgins groaned, closing his eyes in dismay.

"Oh, you mean a bunch of starving interns who work here during the summer," Booth replied sarcastically. Brennan looked thoughtful again.

"Interns keep detailed records of every item they authenticate. Access Kristen Reardon's log," she suggested. Hodgins moved to the nearest computer terminal and entered his password. He frowned when the computer beeped at him in refusal.

"I don't have the necessary clearance," he complained.

"Let me try," Booth insisted, nudging Hodgins out of the way with a gloating expression. Both scientists looked on in shock as he entered a password into the appropriate field and was granted access.

"Since when do you have a password?" Brennan asked.

"I don't. It's yours," he smirked.

"How do you know mine? I've never told you."

"Well, I've got eyes. You're not exactly CIA material, Bones. Plus, it's your favorite flower." Booth's smug expression left her speechless, and Hodgins chuckled under his breath as he searched through Kristen Reardon's artifact log.

"It looks like Kristen might have worked on some Luristan bronzes. Some from the thirteenth century too. Tools, utensils, sculptures…"

"What's Luristan?" Booth asked.

"Persia," Brennan explained.

"You mean Iran or Iraq," he corrected. "Since the war, Iraqi museums have been looted, and their pieces are being sold on the black market. This murder has nothing to do with the vault _or_ with a serial killer."

"Kristen Reardon was a smuggler?" Hodgins wondered aloud.

"More than likely _killed_ by a smuggler," Booth replied. "Maybe she went to report something, and the smuggler killed her."

"I'll have Zack check the artifacts in her log as possible murder weapons," Brennan promised. As Booth started to walk away, she added, "And I'm changing my password."

"Daisy?" he guessed, looking pleased with himself.

"How did you know?" she gaped.

"It's your second favorite flower. I know you, Bones. Try a planet," he suggested. Brennan turned back to the computer, and Booth continued to walk. "Jupiter!" he shouted over his shoulder. Brennan pursed her lips as Hodgins laughed at her disgruntled expression. After several moments of deliberation, she settled on a password she doubted he would ever be able to guess. Instead of choosing something she liked, she opted for something she hated.

 _ApplePie._

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Zack called Brennan into his office later that afternoon and showed her a digital image of a bronze antelope statue. The horns on its head were long, sharp points, and the angle of each was precisely sixty-seven degrees. Zack theorized that the statue had been on Aldridge's work table, and Kristen had either fallen upon it or had been pushed. According to the Jeffersonian's records, the artifact had been mailed to a post office box in Arlington.

Cam met with Bancroft to inform him of the smuggling operation and told him that Booth and Brennan were trying to set up a stake out for the following day. Unbeknownst to Bancroft, however, the partners were already parked across the street from the post office by the time Cam had spoken to him, and she had immediately called Booth to let them know that the trap had been set. To their surprise, however, the familiar figure they spotted entering the post office was not Bancroft. It was Dr. Klimkew.

Once he was seated across from Booth and Brennan in the interrogation room, Klimkew admitted to the smuggling operation immediately. He insisted, however, that Kristen had fallen upon the statue during a quarrel with Aldridge. Klimkew stated that he'd been in the room at the time and that Aldridge had blackmailed him into getting rid of the body, threatening the exposure of his smuggling operation. Klimkew tried to argue with the fact that Aldridge had been murdered, but a quick inspection of the man's forearms revealed the tell-tale marks of the hanging cord.

After Klimkew was remanded into custody, Booth insisted that Brennan follow him to his office. It was clear that something was bothering her, and Booth was relatively sure he knew what it was. He guided her to a chair and removed his hidden bottle of scotch from inside his desk.

"Don't take it so hard, Bones," he said gently, pouring the dark liquid into two small paper cups.

"I'm not taking anything hard," she replied dismissively. They threw back the shots before simultaneously crushing the small cups on the table between them.

"You're taking this hard because it happened in your house."

"It's not our house," she frowned, literal as ever.

"Not where you _sleep_. Your favorite place, your house of reason. The Jeffersonian." He set up two more paper cups and poured another round.

"It's not my favorite place."

"Sure it is."

"No," she insisted. "Not anymore. My favorite place is our home." Booth smiled affectionately at her and shrugged a little.

"Fair enough. But the Jeffersonian is still important to you, and you didn't want to think that someone there could be a murderer." He paused as they each downed another shot and crushed the cups. "You're offended that the killer was one of you. You were all hoping that it was Gorgonzola."

" _Gormogon,"_ she corrected, smashing her cup with a pound of her fist.

"Ah! So you admit it!" he grinned. She rolled her eyes playfully, considering his words as he poured more scotch.

"You know what? I _am_ offended."

"I just said that."

"I'm offended because…"

"Because you were betrayed by one of your own," Booth supplied, his previous humor gone. They shared a long look between them, and she felt comforted by his presence.

"At least I know you'll never betray me," she said, touching her paper cup to his in salute.

"Never." His expression was solemn and honest, and their eyes held for several long moments before they drank. The crushed the cups again, and Brennan squinted a little at the growing pile of debris.

"I'm going to have a headache tomorrow, aren't I?"

"We'll see," he chuckled. "We'll probably need to take a cab home. At least we'll be able to take your car to work in the morning." They cleaned up their mess, called for a cab, and tried not to stumble too obviously as they made their way from his office to the sidewalk. Once they were cuddled together in the back seat of the taxi, Booth's hands began their typical drunken wandering. By the time they reached their street, the cab driver had gotten an eyeful of their make-out session more than once. Booth paid the fare and followed Brennan into the house and upstairs to their room.

"You know… I haven't forgotten what you said the last time I was drunk," he said conspiratorially. She raised her brow in question. "About exercise preventing hangovers…"

"Right," she nodded, recalling that particular conversation. "It did work last time," Brennan smiled coyly. He gave her his best drunken charm smile and pulled her close.

"Well maybe we should do it again. You know, just in case."

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Booth's thirty-sixth birthday went quite a bit differently from the previous year. Last year, Brennan had surprised him with a slightly belated gift of a hot tub after they'd returned from their case in Las Vegas, and they'd done some celebrating in their hotel room as well. This year, however, they were scheduled to have Parker on Booth's birthday weekend, and they'd planned a fun Sunday afternoon of laser tag, arcade games, and go-kart racing.

"I won!" Parker exclaimed, bouncing on his toes excitedly. After a quick laser tag lesson from Booth, Parker had managed to beat both adults.

"You sure did," Booth congratulated him. "Do you want to play again or move on to the go-karts?"

"Play again! This time don't let me win," Parker giggled.

"What?" his father said, adopting an offended expression. "I didn't let you win; you beat me fair and square." Brennan and Parker both rolled their eyes in comical synchronization. "Alright, you two, let's go again."

After two more rounds of laser tag, they headed to the outdoor go-kart track. Since Parker was too young to drive his own kart, he rode alongside Booth. Brennan was predictably competitive, and to Booth's surprise, she won two out of three races.

"I told you I'm an excellent driver, Booth."

"Yeah, yeah," he winked, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "Doesn't change anything."

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the arcade, and Booth enjoyed the opportunity to show Parker some of his favorite games from his childhood. Brennan was impressed with the boy's hand-eye coordination, particularly since she wasn't having nearly as much luck.

"Did you play these when you were little too, Bones?" Parker asked, watching as Blinky eliminated Brennan's Pacman for the second time.

"Not really," she replied. "I mostly liked to read. Uncle Russ liked them though."

"I like Uncle Russ. Are we going to see him soon? It's been a long time."

"Um…" Brennan faltered, mentally kicking herself for bringing up the topic of her chronically absent brother. She hadn't seen or heard from him since last Christmas, and Max refused to give any clue as to his whereabouts. He promised her that Russ was safe but wouldn't answer any of her questions about him.

"We might, buddy." Booth spoke up, saving Brennan from having to come up with an answer. "Maybe we'll be able to see your cousins over the holidays this year, okay?"

"Okay," Parker replied neutrally. Even at six years old, he had clearly inherited his father's knack for reading people. He could tell that the subject had made Brennan uncomfortable, so he didn't push for more information.

They dropped Parker off at Rebecca's on their way home, and Brennan surprised Booth yet again when she revealed the menu for his birthday dinner.

"You're making _steak_?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, I'm making _a_ steak for _you_. I'm also making mac-n-cheese, which will be enough for me."

"Wow, Bones," he replied, a dreamy smile stretching across his face. Her mac-n-cheese was one of his favorite meals, and he was always happy when she made it. But the steak portion of their meal really surprised him. She'd been a vegetarian for nearly a year and a half, and while she did occasionally cook meat for him and Parker, he was fairly certain she hadn't made steak since before her lifestyle change. Brennan's broiled filet mignon paired wonderfully with the gourmet mac-n-cheese, and Booth spent a good portion of the meal moaning in appreciation.

"You should save room for dessert," Brennan advised with a secretive smile.

"If you tell me you made pie, I'm going to have Hodgins check you for signs of body snatching."

"I don't know what that means."

"Don't worry about it," he grinned. "I was just kidding. What's for dessert?"

"You'll see." Their gazes held, and he looked as though he were trying to pry the answer out of her telepathically. "Finish eating," she encouraged, rising from her seat to start clearing the mess in the kitchen. Once the counters were clean and the dishwasher was running, she told Booth to wait for her in the bedroom.

"Am I having you for dessert, baby?" he asked, sounding rather hopeful.

"You'll see," she said again, stifling a giggle. "I'll be up in a minute." Booth practically skipped up the stairs and stripped down to his boxers.

"Music?" he called down the stairs.

"Sure."

Booth turned on the mix CD they'd made several months ago for the bedroom and set it to repeat. It was made up of the songs that had become important to them as a couple, including selections from multiple genres. They had danced or made love to every song at one point or another. Brennan appeared in the doorway just as he was turning the lights down, and he swallowed convulsively at the sight of her.

She was wearing a deliciously thin set of black mesh lingerie. It was utterly feminine but much less frilly and lacy than most of the things she'd worn for him in the past. There were no embellishments to speak of; the designer had clearly intended for the focus to be upon the female body rather than satin and lace. The material was soft to the touch and concealed absolutely nothing.

"Wow," he breathed, his happy expression not far off what it had been at the prospect of his steak dinner. "This one might be my favorite. So I _am_ having you for dessert, huh?" He wrapped his arms around her and belatedly realized that she was holding something behind her back.

"Sort of," she chuckled. Brennan handed him the cold object in her hand and smiled as his eyes widened with fresh excitement.

 _Ice cream,_ Booth moaned inwardly, taking the small container and placing it on the nightstand.

"I didn't bring a bowl, but you'll probably need this," she added, holding up a spoon. He took it from her, and she moved to the bed.

"What's a birthday without ice cream?" he grinned. "And this is my favorite way to eat it." Booth set the spoon on top of the ice cream carton and moved to hover over her, his eyes tracing every curve and contour of her body. "You're so beautiful, baby. So gorgeous. I could spend the rest of my life just looking at you."

He leaned down to kiss her, and she met his lips with passion and gratitude for his praise. His mouth moved slowly from her lips, across the strong line of her jaw to her ear, and down to her collarbone. He took his time, kissing, tasting, and nipping lightly until her back was arching upward to encourage him. Booth slipped the thin straps of her négligée over her shoulders, his warm breath dancing across her bare skin. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging reflexively when his lips closed around the hard peak of her breast.

Brennan moaned and arched toward him again, urging him to continue. He slowly removed the nearly transparent garment, following its downward trail with his lips. He kissed every inch of skin as it was revealed until only the see-through mesh panties remained. Brennan was breathing heavily with anticipation, but he didn't immediately remove her underwear. Instead, he parted her thighs gently and pressed his mouth into her wetness with the thin barrier still in place. It was sweet torture.

"Booth," she groaned, pleading.

"Patience," he replied with a soft smile.

"The ice cream is melting."

"It's about to melt a lot more." He teased her through the panties once more, inhaling deeply and thrilling at the scent of her arousal.

" _Booth."_

He chuckled under his breath and slipped the underwear off of her body. He shed his boxers quickly before reaching for the ice cream. It had softened just enough that digging into it wouldn't be a chore.

"Close your eyes," he told her softly. "And lie still." He smiled when she obeyed immediately, watching the rising and falling of her chest as she began to breathe even faster. He'd blindfolded her the last time they'd brought food to bed, mostly because she'd been too stubborn to follow instruction. She had ended up enjoying the sensory deprivation, however, agreeing that it had indeed enhanced her other senses. This time, he knew the blindfold wouldn't be necessary.

He allowed his fingertips to brush lightly over her skin from clavicle to pelvis, and she shuddered at the unexpected touch. Booth dipped the spoon into the ice cream and removed a small amount. He dropped it onto the middle of her chest, directly over her heart. Brennan gasped at the sudden cold sensation, and Booth watched goosebumps rise over her flushed skin before using his tongue to lick the sweet substance from her chest.

He continued the pattern over and over, teasing all of his favorite places on her body. The tiny dip between her collarbones, each of her rosy nipples, the soft expanse of her stomach, each sensitive hip bone, the smooth skin of her inner thigh… By the time he reached her core his mouth was residually cold, but she was on fire. The contrast between the temperatures was stimulating, and she knew that she was a hair's breadth from her release. When his cool tongue made contact with the bundle of nerves at her center, she catapulted over the edge, gripping the bed sheets as she screamed his name. Booth tasted her almost lazily as she trembled beneath him, waiting until her body stilled before returning the spoon to the nightstand.

"Open your eyes, baby," he whispered, aligning their bodies. Her eyes were his favorite shade of blue, and they darkened a little more as he entered her. He set a slow but forceful pace, and she clung to his shoulders as her hips matched his movements perfectly. Brennan's eyes drifted shut again when he captured her lips with his own, and she moaned softly when his tongue slid softly against hers. She felt her body nearing the threshold of ecstasy once again, and she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes.

"Come with me," she begged. Booth groaned in surrender as they each reached their climax, shuddering against one another with each tremor that rocked through their bodies. He rested his forehead against hers as they gasped for breath.

"I love you, Bones. So much."

"I love you too, Booth," she replied, gracing him with a sated smile. "Happy Birthday."

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A few days after his birthday, Booth unearthed some new information about the next foster parent on Brennan's list. Having read the reports from her social services file, he had begun to anticipate that this particular person, Aaron Roberts, might also be deceased. While confirming that fact might offer validation of his intuition, he knew that it wasn't something Brennan would want to hear.

She had been removed from the Roberts' home following a confirmation of physical abuse. Her foster father had either thrown or pushed her down a flight of stairs, resulting in a grade three concussion, a sprained wrist, and a fractured rib. With a hollow sensation in his stomach, Booth read over the details of Aaron Roberts' death. He'd been found at the bottom of a concrete flight of stairs outside of a Chicago bar. The coroner had determined that he had most likely been intoxicated and had fallen to his death by accident. Booth might have accepted that conclusion had it not been for the man's injuries. He'd suffered a broken wrist, several broken ribs, and a head wound, which had been the ultimate cause of death. Roberts' blood alcohol content had been significantly over the legal limit, which was most likely the reason the coroner had attributed his death to a drunken accident.

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything, Bones," he said quietly. She was next to him on the couch, leaning into him as she read through the information he'd found.

"What happened to the body?" she asked, her voice neutral and detached.

"Cremated. No one claimed him."

"And this was in '96? Like Campbell?"

"Yeah. Six months later."

"I'm not surprised no one claimed his body. He beat his wife too, and they didn't have any biological children. I can't say I blame her," Brennan said solemnly. She sat forward with her elbows resting on her knees and rubbed her temples to soothe the headache that was slowly growing in intensity. "Similar injuries, no body, and the timing fits. Again."

"What do you mean 'the timing fits?' Because he died not long after Campbell?"

"Yes, but also because of where I was at the time. I was at Northwestern at the times of both of their deaths...and Max admitted that he checked on me multiple times while I was in college."

"You think he took out Campbell and Roberts while he was in the area," Booth replied, his words more of a statement than a question.

"It fits the timeframe. The details of what they'd both done to me were in my social services file, along with their names, addresses, phone numbers… Still, I don't know how he would've gotten the file-"

"Max was on the run from the FBI for thirty years, Bones. I don't think stealing your foster care file would've been a challenge for him. Campbell and Roberts were the only two placements where the abuse was confirmed, right?" Though Booth had read her file cover to cover, he had also spent a lot of time doing his best _not_ to dwell on the details.

"Yes, but I made allegations against Taylor. I reported the sexual assault, but no one believed me. If Max had that file, then he would've seen that too. I'm sure he'd have known that I wasn't lying about it, regardless of what the caseworkers or the psychiatrists or anyone else might've said about me. So if any of these men were actually murdered by Max, or even if _all_ of them were, why did he wait eleven years to go after Taylor?"

"I don't know," Booth frowned, momentarily imagining himself in Max's place. "Maybe tracking them down wasn't easy. You didn't go to your caseworker about Hammel?"

"I did, but he never left a mark, so there was no proof. The other kids in the house had tried to make accusations before too. None of them ever went anywhere, and eventually I just ran away." Brennan glanced over the additions Booth had made to the list she'd given him in Chicago. Of nine foster placements, seven had been abusive in some way. Four of those had been _physically_ abusive, and all four of the fathers from those homes were now dead.

They sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Booth had started this process by going through her list in chronological order, but now he wondered if perhaps he should make an adjustment. There were three more names on the list, not including Taylor, who had been foster father number eight. Two of the three remaining placements had involved emotional and verbal abuse, and the other couple had merely backed out of their obligation when the wife had gotten pregnant. He mentally moved the non-abusive couple to the end of his priority list and decided to focus instead on the other two: the Lewis and Edwards families.

"I'm sorry that I haven't found the proof you need, Bones. I know I promised-"

"No, Booth. There's no need to apologize. They're all cold cases involving unavailable or cremated remains and police and coroner's reports with too few details. Plus, all of the deaths took place in a county where the police force is somewhat prejudiced against the FBI. I know getting the information has been a slow process, and even when you've been able to get it, it hasn't provided the answers we're looking for. None of that is _your_ fault."

"I know that, I just… I don't want to let you down," he admitted, lowering his eyes. She shook her head insistently and reached up to frame his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her again.

"You could never let me down." Booth allowed himself to get lost in her beautiful eyes for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Bones, even if… Even if we figure out that Max did this, or even if we only ever get as far as _suspecting_ that he did it… Either way, you have to make your peace with it. I'm not saying you have to forgive him, because that's your choice, but I don't want this to be a dark shadow over you. I'll do whatever I can to help you; you know that. So please don't think that you have to cope with this emotional mess on your own. Alright?" His tone was gentle but anxious. He knew that she had a natural tendency to turn inward when dealing with emotional issues, and he wanted to be there for her.

"I know, Booth. I won't shut you out. I promise."

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 **What's a birthday without ice cream? ;)**

 **What are your thoughts on Max? Did he kill them all? Think they'll ever _really_ know for sure? **


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello my lovely readers and Happy Thanksgiving Eve to everyone in the US! Thank you all for the great feedback on the last chapter. It is so greatly appreciated!**

 **This chapter is very AU, meaning not a whole lot of case talk. You will notice that I have mostly skipped a very popular episode, but I had good reason. First and foremost... S3 Booth was a douche of epic proportions at times. The Boy in the Time Capsule episode was full of asshole comments, and the thought of going through to correct every single one of them made me want to weep with exhaustion. So... I skipped the action and focused on what was important. I also changed up that very poignant Brainy Smurf conversation. Hope you like!**

 **Also - I never noticed before writing this episode that Zack talks about how he once had a glove like Michael Jackson. (first lab scene) Much like his S1 comment about looking like a _marionette_ in a windstorm when he dances. Foreshadowing, anyone?**

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Chapter 12

Their next case took them to a local high school, where a set of skeletal remains had been found in a twenty-year-old time capsule. The victim turned out to be a former student named Roger Dillon, who had been a member of the graduating class that had buried the time capsule. He had gotten into an argument with a close friend over money, and his friend, Gil Bates, had lost control of his temper and swung a shovel at him. Roger had died quickly of exsanguination, and Gil had panicked and hidden the body in the time capsule.

Interviewing suspects had been like a slow-motion class reunion, except that Booth and Brennan hadn't known any of them either then or now. The case hit close to home for both partners, though for different reasons. There was a lot of talk amongst the team regarding the social constructs of high school, and Booth couldn't help but feel a little out of place. The majority of the squints had been bullied or teased during high school, much as Roger Dillon had been. It had been a long while since Booth had felt like an outsider among them, and he didn't relish feeling that way again. When they found out about his athleticism and active social life during high school, they assumed he was one of ' _those guys.'_

Brennan could sense his discomfort, but she didn't bring it up until after they'd closed the case. She had been reliving some of her more uncomfortable memories from those years as well, and it wasn't a part of her life that she enjoyed remembering. Aside from the obvious home issues, Brennan had been socially awkward and unpopular as a teenager. She'd been withdrawn and quiet for the sake of self-preservation, and her advanced intellect had intimidated more people than it had impressed.

After securing Gil Bates' confession to the murder of Roger Dillon, Booth and Brennan decided to stop for supper at the diner. They sat across from one another at their usual table, but they were each a little preoccupied with their own thoughts. By the time either of them spoke, they'd been sitting in contemplative silence for a good ten minutes.

"Are you okay?" Booth asked quietly. Brennan tilted her head to the side thoughtfully.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You've been a little...off...over the past few days. Was it the case? I didn't bring it up because it didn't seem like you wanted to talk about...whatever it was."

"No, I'm alright. High school wasn't really the best time for anyone, I guess," he replied, slightly evasive. Brennan frowned in confusion, wondering if there were things about his past that she still didn't know. The prospect intrigued her.

"Well… Do you want to talk about it? I mean, I told you one of my embarrassing stories. I'm sure I can think of more if you want. Everyone has things they'd rather forget."

"You're not really still bothered by Brainy Smurf though, are you?" Booth smiled, recalling her Secret Santa story.

"Well, no, not really. That was fairly minor, all things considered," she shrugged. Booth nodded in agreement, and his smile dissolved as he recalled the things he'd recently learned about her teenage years. She watched his expression change, and her brow wrinkled in concern. "What is it?"

"You know I wasn't _really_ 'one of those guys,' right? I mean, I know what it looks like from the outside, but…"

"You weren't really a jock? You played basketball, football, _and_ hockey, Booth." Her tone was light, and he knew she was trying to get him to smile.

"I played sports, yeah, but… I wasn't a total asshole like the kids who were hard on you and the rest of the squints."

"I never thought you were," she assured him quickly. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"Maybe…" He pushed his food around on his plate for a moment before continuing. "Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed playing sports, but the only reason I tried so hard to fit in was so people would think my life was normal. I learned how to charm other kids and even adults into missing what was right in front of their faces. Being an athlete gave me something to blame my injuries on, and no one gave the bruises a second thought."

"Booth," Brennan said quietly, her voice heavy with sympathy.

"By the time I got to high school, we lived with Pops, but people always wanted to know why, you know? They'd ask if my parents were dead or in jail... It was easier to play the golden boy than let people know what my life was really like."

"It was a defense mechanism," she nodded. "It was how you coped, and there's nothing wrong with that. I did it too, just not in the same way. Instead of sports and popularity contests, I buried myself in my books and schoolwork and just… tried to lay low."

"Yeah. I did things I'm not proud of though, mostly for the sake of keeping my cover and blending in. Now I can't help but wonder how many other kids I knew had a hard time at home too and chose to deal with it the way you did. I wish I'd paid more attention, I wish I'd spoken up when I saw someone being bullied..."

"Everyone has done things they wish they hadn't, Booth. That doesn't make you a bad person or one of _those guys_. It means you've evolved."

He smiled at his wife, grateful for her insight and acceptance. They finished their meals and flagged down their waitress for the check, but he stopped her from leaving the table after they'd paid.

"One other thing, Bones…" He paused, and she looked at him expectantly. Booth reached into the pocket of his green canvas jacket and removed a small blue figurine. Brennan gave him an odd look, wondering why he was carrying around a Smurf.

"That's the wrong one," she said flatly, biting back a smile.

"I don't think so. Smurfette was a total airhead, I mean… Let's face it, she really only had her looks. You're far better than Smurfette. You have your looks and so much more."

They shared a lingering smile, disappearing as they often did into their own private bubble. The noises from the kitchen and voices of the staff and other patrons faded from their awareness. Booth pushed the tiny Brainy Smurf into her palm and closed her fingers around it. Brennan lowered her eyes to the small figurine and chuckled softly.

She intended to place it right next to Jasper the Pig.

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Brennan winced as the smell of raw turkey assailed her nostrils. Though she'd been more than willing to roast the turkey, she had been grateful when Booth had volunteered to take care of that part of their Thanksgiving meal, especially since cooking meat wasn't something she enjoyed. They were cooking a veritable feast, in spite of the fact that their only guests would be Parker, Hank, Hodgins, and Angela. Cam and Zack had been invited as well, but they both had family obligations for the holidays.

Brennan had been feeling somewhat strange for the past few days. She seemed to have lost her appetite to a perpetually upset stomach, her head had been aching by noon each day, and no amount of sleep seemed to rid her of her fatigue. Booth had noticed, of course, and he'd immediately gone overboard in trying to take care of her. He insisted on carpooling to work, mostly so that he could force her to keep reasonable hours at the lab. He plied her with unsolicited food, water, and ibuprofen. He'd even given her a couple of massages before bed.

"Bones, why don't you let me take over with the mashed potatoes," he urged, catching her in a yawn. "Or at least take the cutting board to the table and do it sitting down."

"I'm fine, Booth. I just didn't sleep well."

"I know, that's why you should sit down."

Brennan sighed, unable to summon the energy to argue with him and knowing it would be a wasted effort anyway. She transferred her work station to the other side of the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. As she methodically chopped the potatoes, her mind wandered as it so often did lately.

She knew that what she was feeling was most likely the physical manifestation of an elevated stress level, but she couldn't seem to work through it as she usually did. Apart from the typical holiday stress, she was uncomfortably aware that this week marked the passing of one year since she and Hodgins had been buried alive. It bothered her that there had been little to no progress on the case. No matter how many times the evidence had been analyzed, there simply wasn't anything conclusive to lead them to the Gravedigger's true identity. She knew that Hodgins was struggling with that as well, particularly on the anniversary of their kidnapping. It was the primary reason she had extended an invitation for Thanksgiving dinner, aside from the fact that neither he nor Angela had plans with family. Hodgins' parents were deceased, and Angela's father was in the middle of a concert tour in Europe.

As if to inadvertently tip the scale even further against Brennan's ability to manage her stress, Booth had managed to track down the last three foster parents on the list. They were all alive, though none of them were still fostering, and none were still in the Chicago area. Brennan had felt slightly relieved at that news, but she'd still been left with a mess of emotional fallout to muddle through. She had so many questions for Max, but there was simply no way for her to ask them while he was in jail. There was no such thing as privacy, even in their 'private' visitation room. Brennan was also fairly certain that he'd never give her honest answers, even if she _were_ able to confront him at some point. In a way, she dreaded knowing the truth nearly as much as she hated not having the full story. It was an uncomfortable position.

She and her father had been attempting to rebuild their relationship over the last few couple of months, but being around him was still difficult. She'd long since gotten out of the habit of pretending things were okay when they weren't, and having to put on that facade for Max made her feel as though she were regressing in her own personal evolution. Though she might still be capable of faking normalcy, she couldn't help but feel that it was wrong.

Booth knew the full extent of her worries, and he had been making a diligent effort to keep the lines of communication open. Brennan had kept her promise not to shut him out, and for that he was extremely thankful. He hated to see her so overwhelmed by everything. She stubbornly refused many of his offers to do something that might help her, but he didn't take offense. Being stubborn was in her nature, and he'd even come to love that about her. He would only panic if she were to suddenly become complacent.

Thanksgiving was an enjoyable affair for all. Brennan did her best to keep her focus in the present, and she was pleased that everyone seemed to have a great time. Hank had planned to stay with them for a few days, and Parker would be spending the night as well. Angela begged Brennan to go shopping on Black Friday, but Booth nixed that plan before Brennan could even open her mouth to respond. While that might have irritated her under normal circumstances, she was actually relieved for his intervention. When it came to shopping, Angela had a habit of nagging her into submission, and there was simply no way Brennan could find the energy for a full day of shopping.

"Are you alright, Bren?" Angela asked softly as they put away the leftovers. There would be enough for two more meals, even if everyone took a plate home.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. I'm not even going to whine about the shopping because now that I get a good look at you, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't make it through the first store. What's going on?"

"I'm alright. Just tired."

"Well, you barely ate anything… Oh my God, Bren. Are you _pregnant_?" Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, and Brennan was grateful that she had at least asked the question in a low volume.

"No, Ange. I just haven't been feeling well lately."

"Are you _sure_ you're not-"

"I'm sure. My period was last week. It's just stress."

"About the… anniversary?" she said awkwardly. "Jack's having trouble too."

"That's part of it, I guess. I'll be fine though. The holidays are always busy and stressful." Brennan shrugged, hoping Angela would drop it. It wasn't that she resented her for asking, but there was simply too much on her mind that she wasn't able to share with Angela. Maybe someday she could tell her friend more about her past, about what she suspected her father had done… However, that day was not today. Brennan needed to determine how to handle it on a personal level before she could discuss it with anyone other than Booth.

Angela sighed and pursed her lips at Brennan's easy dismissal of her issues. Sure, the holiday season was a stressful time for many people, but she couldn't recall Brennan ever being this affected by it. She understood the added upset of the Gravedigger anniversary, but she couldn't help but feel that there was more to it than Brennan was admitting. Whatever the case, Angela obligingly changed the subject, hoping that Brennan would open up when she was ready.

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On the following Monday evening, Booth arrived at the Jeffersonian to pick up his wife and was surprised to find her asleep on her office couch. He sighed in relief as he gazed at her beautiful, untroubled face. The inverted 'V' between her brows had been an almost permanent fixture lately, and he was glad to see her face without it.

Cam appeared in the doorway, but Booth quickly held up a hand to stop her from talking. He motioned for her to give him a moment, and she waited patiently as he pulled Brennan's throw blanket from the back of one of her chairs and draped it over her carefully. He bent to place a soft kiss to her forehead before leaving her office.

"What's up?" Booth asked, closing Brennan's door quietly behind him.

"We've got a body," Cam replied, glancing sympathetically through the window toward the back of Brennan's couch.

"Damn it. This is the first I've seen her sleep so soundly in more than a week, Cam. Are you sure she needs to go?"

"No, the techs said it's pretty fresh, but I know Dr. Brennan prefers to be at the crime scenes…"

"She can look at the body when it gets back to the lab," Booth said quickly.

"You sure she'll be alright with that?"

"If she's not, then she can be mad at me later. Right now, she needs to sleep." Booth gestured for her to lead the way out of the lab, and he decided to ride with her to the scene.

"So what's going on, Booth? I know something's up. She looks exhausted, she doesn't seem to eat anything unless you force her to, she hardly speaks to anyone voluntarily… And that's just at work. I can't imagine she's doing any better at home." Cam's expression was full of concern, and Booth sighed, choosing his words carefully.

"She's under a lot of stress at the moment, Cam. It's been a year since the Gravedigger kidnapped her and Hodgins, and we still don't have any real leads. Her dad and her brother disappeared right before Christmas last year, and now she's going into another holiday season without them. Russ is still MIA, and Max is in jail. She and her dad are trying to patch things, but it's not been easy for either of them… And I think she probably wants to just bury herself in her work, but I haven't been letting her do that." He looked a little guilty, but he still believed he was doing the right thing by keeping her from barricading herself in the lab.

"Well, all of that would certainly stress _me_ out… You're right to stay on top of her about her work hours. Even if she doesn't appreciate that right now, she will when she's in her right mind," Cam assured him. Booth grunted in agreement. "I have to admit, I was beginning to wonder…"

"She's not pregnant," Booth chuckled. "I thought the same thing at first, but she's not. It's just stress. She'll come around once she gets things sorted out in her mind."

The crime scene did in fact turn out to be more in line with Cam's specialty than Brennan's, and Booth was glad he'd made the right choice to let her sleep. The body had been found on a construction site, and apart from the evidence of rodent predation, the only thing that stood out was some damage to the victim's knees. Cam suggested the crime might be mob-related, and Booth made a note to check with the other department heads at the Bureau once he had an ID.

When they returned to the Jeffersonian, Cam headed down to the loading bay to help with the body, and Booth made his way back to Brennan's office. He smiled at the sight of her still asleep on the sofa, but he knew she would insist on doing a preliminary exam at the very least.

"Bones," he said softly, smoothing her hair away from her face in slow, gentle strokes. "Wake up, baby." She frowned and moaned a little as she struggled to wake, and her eyes were slightly bloodshot when she opened them.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, it's me. There's a body coming in any minute. It's pretty fleshy, but I figured you would want to take a look."

Brennan nodded sleepily and stifled a yawn. She managed to sit up, stretching to relieve the aches in her muscles, and Booth's arms were around her almost instantly. She smiled against his shoulder, returning the hug with a contented sigh. The nap had helped, but she still felt groggy.

"Where was the body found?" she asked, standing up to adjust her clothing.

"At a construction site. Cam should be bringing it in pretty soon," he replied. Brennan slipped into her lab coat and pulled her hair into a ponytail. He couldn't help but feel a little relieved that she hadn't taken him to task for not waking her.

Once the initial x-rays were completed, Brennan found Zack in the autopsy room studying an image of the victim's chest x-ray. Although it was now quite late, the lab was buzzing with activity, and Brennan wasn't at all surprised to see him still at work. He seemed to be a permanent fixture there now.

The victim was middle-aged male who had been dead for approximately three days. The cause of death had been a single stab wound through the sternum, which was no easy feat and implied that the killer had to have been very strong. A small gemstone had been found on the body, and Hodgins was able to identify it as jade. His next task was to identify some particulates Cam had gathered from the victim's wounds. What Cam had originally taken as evidence of knee-capping turned out to be something else. The victim's patellae had been surgically removed.

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Booth waited patiently until Brennan was ready to leave, and he was pleased when she only spent a half an hour with the remains. When they got home, Brennan retrieved that day's mail from the mailbox and followed him inside. She had barely begun to sift through the envelopes when she heard a knock at the front door. She tossed the mail onto the kitchen table and watched as Booth opened the door.

"Amy," Brennan said, surprised at the appearance of Russ's girlfriend. Amy smiled awkwardly, and Booth motioned her into the house, closing the door behind her.

"Hi… I'm sorry to show up so late, but it was the first time I could step away," Amy said apologetically. "I don't have a lot of time, but I was wondering if you've heard from Russ or...maybe even know where he might be?" Booth and Brennan exchanged a glance.

"No, I'm sorry. I haven't heard from Russ since last Christmas," Brennan replied sadly. Amy was clearly disappointed but not surprised by her answer.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you. I lost your number, and I only remembered where you lived because we were here for the wedding… Hayley's in the hospital again. They finally figured out what's been causing her so much trouble," Amy sniffled. "She has cystic fibrosis. Her lungs are in bad shape, and now her liver… She just keeps asking for Russ, and I hate having to tell her that I don't know when he'll be coming home."

"He hasn't contacted you at all in almost a year?" Booth asked. Brennan went back to the kitchen to retrieve her phone from her messenger bag, but her eye was caught by the stack of mail she'd left on the table. The largest envelope now bore a red stain that hadn't been there five minutes ago.

"He's sent us a few letters," Amy admitted. "They're always postmarked from different places, and he never gives any clues about where he might be. He just writes to let us know that he's safe and that he misses us."

"Amy, I'm going to give you the number of Dr. Leo Goetz. He's the premier authority on cystic fibrosis in the country," Brennan told her, writing down not only the specialist's number, but also her own as well.

"I can't afford that," she replied, shaking her head.

"No, Leo and I are friends. He'd do it for me as a favor, no charge. I'm going to give him a call and tell him to expect you." Brennan glanced back at the envelope, and this time Booth followed her gaze. He frowned as their eyes met, but neither of them mentioned it or moved any closer to the table.

"I don't know what to say… Thank you," Amy said, sniffling again.

"You're welcome," Brennan smiled. "As for Russ, I think you're better off talking to Dad."

"I understand," she nodded. "Thank you again. I'm really sorry to show up so late."

"It's no problem. Give me a call when Hayley is well enough for a visitor, okay?"

"I will. Thank you."

Booth waved goodbye and closed the door behind her. When he turned around, Brennan was already taking a closer look at the bloody envelope. She pulled a pair of gloves out of her bag and opened the envelope very carefully.

"Easy, Bones. Maybe we should wait."

"For what? I examine evidence all the time." He nodded and watched as she emptied the contents onto the table. A plastic film had provided a partial barrier between the envelope and a bloodstained piece of linen. The linen was folded in half, and it had been printed with an image that reminded Brennan of a seal. It was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. She was more interested in what the linen concealed; two bloody, rock-like bones.

"What the hell are those?" Booth said anxiously.

"Patellae. I'm pretty sure they came from our victim." Booth cursed under his breath and was immediately on the phone, barking orders at some unfortunate junior agent who had apparently chosen the wrong day to work late. Brennan's hands shook slightly as she placed the bones, envelope, plastic, and linen into separate evidence bags. She scowled in protest when heard him demanding that a couple of forensic techs make a trip to their home to pick up the evidence and take it to the Jeffersonian, but he ignored her, tacking on an order for a surveillance agent to park outside of their house for the night.

"Don't give me that look, Bones. We're both exhausted, and it doesn't hurt to let someone else deliver the evidence," he said quickly after he'd ended his call.

"And the surveillance? You don't think that's going a little overboard?" she asked, stubbornly ignoring the troubling theories that were already running circles in her mind.

"Do I really need to remind you of the last time a killer found out where someone on our team lives?"

Brennan's mouth snapped shut as she recalled the disastrous events surrounding the death of Howard Epps. In that situation, it had been extremely beneficial to have FBI surveilling Angela's street and apartment building. She sighed and nodded, agreeing to let it go. Once the evidence had been picked up and Booth had spoken to the agent parked outside, they went to bed. Although they already had a habit of sleeping in one another's arms, Booth held her a little tighter that night, and in spite of everything, Brennan slept.

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Predictably, Booth insisted on carpooling to work the next morning. When they arrived at the lab, they found that Cam had already made some progress on the autopsy, and the victim's patellae were waiting for Brennan's analysis. When Booth explained how they acquired the bones, Angela was appalled.

"Somebody sent you human kneecaps in the mail? That is like… _blech."_ Her expression conveyed her disgust.

"Zack says they're from our victim," Cam announced, her hands deep in the victim's abdominal cavity.

"These patellae are unusually worn," Brennan stated as she studied the bones.

"Worn from what?" Booth asked.

"It's hard to say definitively, but I'd say the man did a lot of kneeling."

"Wait a minute… I've seen that before," Angela said, focusing on the bloody linen wrapping. "That symbol looks familiar, like it's from some kind of seal."

"I thought so too, but I couldn't place it," Brennan replied.

"Okay, Bones, I need to go, but you stay here, alright? If you need to go somewhere, call me."

"Why?"

"Mr. Kneecaps has your home address?" Cam offered, her tone indicating that this should be rather obvious.

"We can't freak out every time someone googles us," Brennan shrugged.

"Cam, she goes nowhere alone," Booth commanded, prompting his wife to roll her eyes.

"Cam, don't listen to him-"

"Cam, who are you more afraid of, me or her?"

"Booth!" Brennan admonished him, nearly shouting.

"Whoa!" Cam held up her hands to silence them. "So this is what it's like to be a kindergarten teacher." Laughter from the open doorway alerted them to an eavesdropper.

"Fascinating interpersonal interaction," Sweets grinned appreciatively.

"Dr. Sweets," Brennan greeted him, visibly surprised at his unexpected appearance.

"I, uh… Oh wow, that is _gross_ ," Sweets muttered, looking horrified at the sight of the mangled corpse on Cam's autopsy table.

"Yeah, it's an autopsy room. It's no place for therapists," Booth snarked. "What do you want?"

"You and Dr. Brennan missed our session this morning…" He was still transfixed by the remains, looking simultaneously nauseated and intrigued. Neither Brennan nor Booth addressed his statement; they'd both completely forgotten their appointment that morning. Fortunately, Zack chose that moment to appear in the doorway and announce that he had identified the murder weapon.

"That was quick," Brennan complimented him. He walked further into the room and held up a dagger.

"Tapered, inch-and-a-half blade with both a hilt and a quillon. The cannelure is also quite distinctive."

"That's the Gormogon knife," Booth said, recognizing it immediately.

"The serial killer?" Sweets interjected, his eyes bright with interest.

"Which is why the symbol looks so familiar," Angela added, looking pleased to have solved the mystery. "I've seen it on a tapestry in the vault."

Sweets practically begged to have a look at the vault, and although Brennan was concerned that he might compromise something, Booth decided to give him a tour. They had utilized his profiling skills on a couple of cases now, and he hoped that Sweets would be able to tell them something useful. He knew that solving this case would require every resource available to them.

Sweets was greatly intrigued by the reconstructed vault, but his first suggestion was met with immediate disapproval Brennan. He recommended that they replace the silver kneecaps of the Widow's Son sculpture with the patellae that had been mailed to Booth and Brennan. He insisted that there would be something special about the bones and that Gormogon had obviously sent them in the hopes that they would continue his work.

Booth and Brennan were on their way back to her office when Zack approached to give them the ID he'd gotten from the victim's dental records. It was Father Douglas Cooper, a priest who had worked directly with the archbishop of DC.

"Okay, Sweets was right about the kneecaps," Booth said approvingly. "This guy would've been a world class kneeler." Brennan scoffed at his implication.

"Well, saying someone is a wiz at psychology is like saying they're good at mind reading. It's a series of lucky guesses."

"Well, I'm bringing Sweets in on the case."

"You make fun of him all the time," Zack said, looking perplexed.

"Only when he forgets to stay out of our personal lives."

"He _was_ right about the knees…" Zack mused aloud.

Brennan sighed, accepting that she would have to put up with Sweets' continued presence on this case whether she liked it or not. Soliciting his help on a case here or there was one thing, but the Gormogon case was an ongoing investigation that had already been drawn out for months. She didn't relish the idea of having the nosy psychologist around on such a permanent basis.

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Archbishop Steven Wallace was predictably appalled at the news that his Vicar General had been a victim of cannibalism. What Cam had initially taken to be indications of rodent predation turned out to be human in origin. The only thing remarkable about Father Cooper was that he had been on sabbatical for the past six months while he worked on a novel about early Christianity's ties to Paganism. Archbishop Wallace described him as a decent, humble man who had been committed to serving others.

When Booth and Brennan returned to the lab, they found the rest of the team gathered on the platform around the remains. Angela had worked out the significance of the seal from the linen and the corresponding tapestry in the vault where she'd originally seen the image.

"The red-haired figure is Barabbas," she explained. "A murderer and rapist who was condemned to death in New Testament Jerusalem."

"The Gormogons believed that the descendants of Barabbas started the first secret society," Hodgins added. Angela nodded and continued.

"To the Gormogons, Barabbas is an enduring symbol of all that is backwards, upside down, or inside out."

"So if you find this figure on a Gormogon relic…" Cam began.

"It's a sign to interpret it backwards, in a mirror, or upside down," Angela explained. Zack took up the narrative at that point, drawing their attention to a series of numbers on the tapestry, which was displayed on a nearby monitor.

"The numbers on the tapestry are simple alpha numeric code. Each number corresponds with a letter to spell out 'Civitas Capitolium.'"

"Which means 'capital city.' DC was laid out according to Masonic symbols," Hodgins stated. He pulled up a map of the city that showed the primary points of interest connected by multiple shapes. "Now, notice the pentagram here, over the White House…"

"And the compass and the square," Angela added. "The point of the compass is over the US Capitol building-"

"But here's where Angela's Barabbas thing really kicks in," Hodgins interrupted excitedly. Booth and Brennan shared a loaded glance in response to his obvious enthusiasm.

"The presence of Barabbas means backwards and upside down. So when the compass is inverted, it points to some very interesting landmarks."

"The bank where we found the vault, the place where Father's Cooper's body was dumped, the highway overpass off of which Gavin Nichols head was thrown…" As Hodgins named each landmark, he pointed them out on the map.

"What's there?" Cam asked, indicating a point of interest he hadn't named.

"It's an old mansion that's now a nursing home."

"And _this,_ " Angela emphasized, indicating the last landmark in the configuration, "falls very precisely."

"What's that?"

"A mausoleum at Silver Hill Cemetery," Hodgins grinned. Everyone but Zack fought the urge to roll their eyes at his eagerness.

"You want to look inside?" Cam guessed.

"Hell yeah, I do!"

Booth reluctantly agreed to arrange for access to the mausoleum, but he insisted on going with Hodgins to check it out. They were told that the structure had been there since the nineteenth century and that, as far as the cemetery director knew, no one had been inside for roughly a hundred years. The words 'Pater Mortuus' were inscribed in the stone over the entrance, and Booth surprised Hodgins by translating the Latin phrase to 'Dead Father.'

They opened the door to the mausoleum and were immediately greeted by a somewhat familiar sight on the opposite wall. It was another Widow's Son sculpture, but this one was mounted on a metal pentagram. It was also made entirely of bone.

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 **Ah, Gorgonzola has returned! And poor Brennan is feeling a bit stressed. This is more for character development than anything else. She's not a robot anymore, and that comes with benefits as well as downfalls.**

 **How ironic that I'm posting this chapter the day before Thanksgiving, and my characters had their Thanksgiving as well. Hope everyone has a great holiday! Please review if you have a moment, and I'll be back with more on Saturday. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hope everyone had a good holiday! Hope you enjoy this one! :)**

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Chapter 13

While Booth went to the cemetery with Hodgins to check out the Gormogon mausoleum, Brennan decided to stop at the hospital on her way home. Dr. Goetz had cleared Hayley for visitors, and Brennan was hoping to catch her before she went to sleep for the night. Booth hadn't liked the idea of her going anywhere alone, but he compromised by having an agent tail her to the hospital and then home. When she entered the room, Hayley's eyes were closed, and Brennan's attention was drawn to Amy. She was sitting next to the hospital bed with her hands folded as if in prayer, her eyes locked on her daughter's face.

"Hi," Amy said quietly, hearing Brennan's quiet knock.

"Hi. How's Hayley doing?"

"Dr. Goetz is a godsend. I don't know how to thank you," she replied fervently. Hayley opened her eyes at the sound of their voices and looked around the room.

"Hi, Aunt Tempe," Hayley said softly. Brennan smiled, pleased that Russ's stepdaughters still thought of her as their aunt, even though they'd only spent a little time together. Amy and the girls had been at the wedding, but prior to that, they hadn't seen Brennan since they first met her and Booth during their trip to North Carolina the previous year.

"Hi, Hayley."

"Can you call Russ and tell him to come home?" she pled.

"It's...complicated." Brennan winced sympathetically and glanced at Amy in silent appeal. She quickly deflected her daughter's question by encouraging her to eat a little and then gestured for Brennan to step into the hallway for a moment. They left the door open and spoke in low tones.

"I tried to get into the jail to see your father, but they wouldn't let me in. They said I'm not a relative."

"Amy, Russ is a fugitive," she warned her. "The minute he comes back to DC, they'll toss him in jail."

"Well, how would anyone know?"

"I work with the FBI."

"You don't have to be in on this," Amy insisted. "All you have to do is ask your father to get a message to Russ." Brennan shifted uncomfortably, and Amy frowned. "You look my baby in the face and tell her she can't see her father because you're mad at yours."

"I'll do what I can," she promised, casting one last look at Hayley before she left. The little girl was sleeping again, and Brennan decided to check in on her the following day.

By the time Booth arrived home from his cemetery expedition, Brennan was getting ready for bed. She was smoothing her hand lotion over her palms when he appeared in the bedroom doorway, and he smiled in gratitude that she'd made it home safely. He knew that a lot of people might think he was being overprotective, but after everything they'd been through, he just couldn't see it that way.

"So you found another skeleton?" Brennan asked eagerly. The only reason she hadn't gone straight to the cemetery from the hospital was because they'd already removed the evidence when she'd received Booth's text. He had convinced her to just go home and worry about it tomorrow, but he knew she was clamoring for a firsthand look.

"Yup. No silver this time," Booth sighed, easing his aching feet out of his shoes. "Wonder how many victims' bones were used to build it."

"I should be able to tell you that fairly quickly tomorrow."

"I know. That is, if Zack doesn't beat you to it. I don't think that kid ever leaves the lab anymore." He shook his head in disapproval, but Brennan shrugged it off.

"I was the same way, Booth. He's just dedicated." Booth made a noncommittal sound and moved into the bathroom to perform his nighttime rituals.

"How was Hayley?" he called through the open door.

"Mostly asleep. She asked for Russ… Amy thinks I don't want to pass along the message because it means talking to Max, and she could tell I was conflicted about it."

"You've been out there to see him before. What's different this time?" Booth asked, though he thought he knew. Since her last visit, they had finished looking into foster parents. All that was left now was to deal with the results, or rather the lack of them. They now had even more reason to suspect Max's involvement and still no proof of anything. Booth had offered to keep digging, but Brennan seemed torn on the best course of action.

"I'll go, I just… It's hard to sit there and talk to him and not… You know."

"You want to just come out and ask him about your foster parents," he guessed, walking back into the bedroom.

"I know that I can't. And even if I did, he'd never tell me the truth. I just can't help but wonder if that's the way it will always be with him. Lies and secrets…"

Booth sighed and climbed into bed next to her. He wished he had answers for her, but even if he were to make educated predictions, he knew it wouldn't be what she wanted to hear. Her stress levels were still making it difficult for her to function well, and he wanted nothing more than to make it all go away. Brennan curled up against his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms around her as much as he enjoyed holding her.

"You should go see him tomorrow morning," he encouraged. "Give him the message, and then Russ can decide for himself." Brennan yawned and nodded in agreement, concluding that if Russ did somehow end up back in jail, at least he would finally be dealing with the consequences of his actions.

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As Booth had predicted, Zack had already made substantial progress on the new skeleton when Brennan called for an update the next morning. She had decided to get her prison visit out of the way first, since she knew that Zack could handle things in her absence. He reported that he had identified bones from eighteen different victims thus far, and each one bore evidence of cannibalism. Unfortunately, the gnaw marks didn't match those they had found previously in the case, which indicated that there was another cannibal at large. This one, however, was most likely in his seventies, judging by the age of the oldest bones.

Hodgins took over the call for a moment, announcing that he had identified particulates from Father Cooper's chest wound as sepiolite. The mineral along with the violet jade gemstone were only found in a certain part of Turkey known as the Anatolia region, which was reputed to be the site of the Garden of Eden. Hodgins also found a jar of the same mineral inside the vault.

Brennan thanked them both and ended the call just as Booth was pulling into the parking lot at the prison. He still insisted that she not go anywhere on her own, but he agreed to wait near the gate while she spoke to Max.

"There's my girl," Max greeted her with his usual award-winning smile. Brennan smiled a little awkwardly and took a seat across from him. "I'm glad you came. While I was waiting, I was thinking about all the places I've been that are worse than prison… El Salvador, for example, and that two weeks I spent in a shipping container…"

"I didn't care much for El Salvador either," Brennan muttered.

"Oh yeah? What happened?" Max's brows were raised in hopeful curiosity, but Brennan couldn't bring herself to elaborate.

"That's a story for another time," she dodged, watching her father's face fall slightly in disappointment. "I remember you hated Disney World."

"I thought I was always able to keep that from you kids," Max replied, his smile back in place. Brennan laughed along with him.

"No… I was six; Russ was ten. It was pouring rain. Mickey sneezed so hard his head popped off," she snickered.

"I think I like prison better." They shared another laugh, but Brennan's mirth faded as she recalled the purpose of her visit.

"Dad, I'm here about Russ."

"Well, he's fine. You don't have to worry about Russ," he assured her.

"The woman he lived with and the kids he was raising… They need him."

"Russ sends Amy and the girls money every month."

"Hayley's sick. Really sick. She's asking for him," Brennan said, wondering how Max knew that Russ was sending money home. "Just tell Russ. Let him make up his own mind about what to do."

"If he comes back to DC, Russ is going to end up in here with me. He won't do that. He's scared to death of jail."

"He'll come if you ask him too." She had unwittingly risen to her feet at some point and suddenly found herself leaning over the table toward him. His expression softened as he looked at her.

"You look more like your mother every day," he said wistfully. Brennan stood up, needing to put a little distance between them. It wasn't that she didn't like hearing those things, but when he spoke to her that way, she could see Matthew Brennan in his eyes. She saw the father she'd known and loved for so many years, and she missed that man so much that an unexpected encounter with him was gut-wrenching.

"I need to go," she said stiffly. Brennan met his eyes apologetically, and he nodded in sad acceptance. He encouraged her to come back soon, but as always, she made no such promise.

"How'd it go?" Booth asked as they fastened their seatbelts a few minutes later.

"I gave him the message," she shrugged. "Whether he delivers it or what Russ does about it is out of my hands."

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Angela called Booth, Brennan, and Hodgins into her office as soon as the partners arrived at the lab. She had pulled a tapestry out of the vault and hung it in her office. It was odd looking, consisting of a number of small patches on a larger surface. Some looked like seals or symbols, while others looked remarkably like tarot cards. Angela pointed out the seal that had been on the linen wrapped around Father Cooper's patellae, and she rattled off the names of the tarot cards.

"The Architect, the Martyr, the Orator, the Musician, the Bishop, the Corruptor-"

"Whoa," Booth interrupted, standing up from his chair. "That's it. Gavin Nichols was the Musician."

"Father Cooper was a bishop," Hodgins said, comprehension dawning on his face.

"He's doing it in order," Brennan surmised.

"What's next?" Booth pressed.

"The Corrupter," Angela replied, pointing to the corresponding image. Hodgins snorted a little.

"So let's call up every porn kingpin and drug dealer in the country," he grinned. "Tell them to look out for a lunatic with a napkin in his collar, holding a knife and fork."

"Dude, you're being way too literal," Sweets interjected, standing in Angela's doorway. He walked into the room as he continued, "These icons extend from the sixteen hundreds. A 'corruptor' would mean a heretic. Like… a pretender to the throne. I'm totally into the Gormogon file, and in my opinion, you're looking for a duo."

"How did you get the file?" Brennan demanded. Sweets pointed at Booth, and she turned to him in alarm. "You gave him the casefile?"

"He came up with the whole duo thing," Booth replied defensively, shrinking a little under her stern gaze. _Pissing off the wife this early in the morning is never a good thing,_ he thought.

Brennan admitted reluctantly that they had found another skeleton with gnaw marks that indicated there were two cannibals. Sweets practically beamed with pride at being right. He went on to clarify that it was most likely a master-apprentice type of situation wherein each master must complete a skeleton while training an apprentice. Once the skeleton is completed, the master retires, and the apprentice starts his own project.

They each took turns adding their own postulations, concluding that the apprentice who had helped with the older skeleton was now the master. Jason Harkness had been an apprentice, but he had killed himself rather than expose the master. Sweets also suggested that one or both masters probably had access to 'at risk' children, and Brennan felt her resistance to the 'guesswork' of profiling beginning to weaken slightly.

"Well… anything else?" she asked as Booth stepped away to take a phone call.

"Yeah," Sweets nodded, looking back to an image of the silver skeleton on Angela's monitor. "It must be killing him that you have this. This is basically his whole reason for living. You might be able to find some way to use that."

"Wait till you hear this," Booth interrupted, snapping his phone shut. "Father Cooper took a trip to Turkey last year, to that same region you were talking about, Bug Boy. _And_ Gavin Nichols was on the same trip."

"The Bishop and the Musician," Angela surmised.

"What about a corruptor?" Brennan inquired.

"The trip was arranged by a lobbyist. Is that too literal?" Booth asked, looking at Sweets. The psychologist agreed that a lobbyist would fit the role perfectly. Booth gestured for Brennan to follow him from the room, his fingertips touching her lower back as they walked to her office.

"You're not really mad I gave him the file, are you? This is a big case. We need all the help we can get."

"I just don't trust his methods, Booth. It _is_ a big case, and if we follow the wrong lead, we'll be wasting time and resources."

"So you don't want to come with me to talk to the lobbyist? He's supposedly on his way to my office."

"I'll come, but… We're questioning him because he has connections to two of the victims, _not_ because Dr. Sweets says we should," she replied stubbornly. Booth grinned and helped her into her coat.

"The guy's also a member of the Knights of Columbus," he added, trying not to gloat. "A secret society." She narrowed her eyes, and he worked to contain his amusement. Booth preferred evidence to psychological profiling as well when it came to investigations, but teasing her would always be one of his favorite forms of entertainment.

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Ray Porter sat in Booth's office with an incredulous expression as they explained their reasons for believing his life might be in danger. He openly acknowledged his membership with the Knights of Columbus as well as the fact that he had lost his father at age six. Unfortunately, Brennan then let the word 'corruptor' slip, and Porter immediately took offense. He accused them of telling wild stories about cannibals as a means of intimidation, and he assumed that he must be a target in an investigation of influence peddling. Porter stormed from the room, and Brennan turned to Booth in confusion.

"Okay, Bones. You didn't have to call him corrupt," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because obviously he is."

Brennan's next words were interrupted by Agent Burns, who knocked on the door to inform Booth that he had a visitor. Booth and Brennan were equally surprised when Russ stepped into the room.

"Where's Hayley?" he asked, his expression full of worry.

"Russ… You came to the FBI," Brennan said, stating the obvious in alarm.

"Yeah, that was the deal."

Booth and Brennan glanced at each other, utterly perplexed. Booth sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. _Just once I would like someone_ else _to arrest her family members,_ he grumbled inwardly _._ He took a deep breath and walked toward his brother-in-law.

"Russ Brennan, you're under arrest-"

"You lied?!" Russ shouted at his sister. "You told Dad that Booth wouldn't arrest me."

"No! I never said that!"

"I should have known better than to trust anyone in this family."

"Russ, I swear…" She wasn't sure how the message had gotten twisted, but his words cut her deeply. After everything that had happened, _he_ was implying that _she_ couldn't be trusted. _Shouldn't that be the other way around?_ she thought angrily.

"I wanna see my stepdaughter," Russ insisted. Brennan's eyes shifted to her husband, pleading silently. Booth deliberated for a moment before making a decision.

"We'll go for a quick visit," he told Russ quietly. "But the cuffs stay on till we get there. After that, I _have_ to take you in. I don't have a choice." Russ clenched his jaw but nodded stiffly, and Brennan released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Amy and Hayley were overjoyed to see Russ, and Brennan was pleased to see a brilliant smile on the little girl's face. She and Booth stood in the doorway, watching the reunion.

"Thank you, Booth," she whispered. He looked down at her and gave a reluctant smile.

"As far as the bureau is concerned, I caught him here fifteen minutes from now." He glanced back at Russ and his family, only turning back to his wife when he felt her lips against his cheek.

"I love you, Booth," she said fervently. He brought his fingertips to her chin and tipped it upward to press his lips to hers.

"I love you too."

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Once Russ was turned over for booking and processing, Brennan asked Booth if he would mind another quick stop at the prison. She didn't understand what had made her father think that Russ would be able to stroll into the Hoover without being arrested. Her brother had actually been lucky to have made it past security.

"You told Russ that I said Booth wouldn't arrest him," Brennan said, her tone accusatory. Neither of them sat this time. She'd come to chastise him and then get back to her day.

"Look, I couldn't turn him over to _you_. That would just put you in a quandary with your husband. I did it this way for you."

"Dad!" _Is he serious?_

"What? Booth arrested him?" Max asked, irritated and incredulous.

"Of course he did. You sent Russ to his _office_ ; he didn't have any choice." Her defense was interrupted by a call from Zack, and she pulled the phone out of her pocket. "Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan, I found something in the Gormogon vault that I think you should see," he said excitedly. Brennan's response was interrupted yet again, this time by her father.

"Why are you being such a hard ass on my kid, Booth?" he shouted from several feet away, hoping to be heard on the other end of the call. Brennan rolled her eyes as Zack asked who was speaking. She covered the lower half of her cell and turned back to Max.

"It's not Booth. You know, it's bad enough that nobody can trust _you_ , but now you're making it so Russ and I can't trust each other either." She angrily recalled that it had been Max who had convinced Russ to disappear last Christmas, effectively shattering whatever trust she'd just begun to build with her brother, and now he'd done it in reverse. Max winced apologetically.

"He came back. He hugged his little girl," he reminded her. Brennan headed toward the door, but his next words stopped her. "I'm here for _you_...and a lot of dads aren't."

 _I'm here for you_. The words echoed in her mind, bringing back all of the heartache and loss of the past sixteen years. He'd left to keep her safe. He'd _killed_ to keep her safe. ...And he'd come back hoping to make her happy. Brennan sighed and crossed the room, her eyes reading the sorrow in his features. He looked as though he might break into tears at any moment, and she felt her own eyes filling as well.

"That's true, Dad." She leaned over to kiss his cheek, the first physical show of affection she'd initiated since the day he handcuffed her to a park bench. Brennan clasped his hand briefly, and Max gave her a watery smile. As she left, she glanced back to see him looking down at his hands as though he could somehow see the lingering effects of her unexpected touch.

In that moment, Brennan made the decision to double her efforts at making peace with the past. She knew that it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined. She wanted her father back.

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Booth and Brennan found Zack in the vault with the lights off. He handed them each a pair of night-vision goggles and explained that he had noticed an abundance of mirrors in the vault. After taking note of each mirror's placement, he realized that they'd been arranged for a purpose. He pointed a red laser light into the darkness, and the partners were surprised to see it bounce nearly a dozen times through the vault. It ended at a carving of The All-Seeing Eye, and Zack explained that someone would be able to see all areas of the vault from that vantage point. Gormogon had been watching them the whole time.

Booth ordered a group of techs to run a sensor sweep, and they discovered that the sculpture was broadcasting a signal for both audio and video. It was configured to be activated by white light, so they were fairly certain that Zack's laser hadn't triggered it.

"What do we do?" Brennan asked quietly, her eyes darting around the expansive space of the Jeffersonian basement. The reconstructed vault took up a good portion of it.

"Exactly what Sweets said; use it against Gormogon."

"How?"

"No idea."

"What if…" she trailed off for a moment, thinking quickly. "What if we fooled him into thinking that we're transporting the sculpture? He might try to grab it."

"That's a great idea," he agreed, impressed. "But to really sell it, you're going to have to put Father Cooper's kneecaps in the silver skeleton." She made a noise of protest, but couldn't come up with a legitimate argument. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right.

The partners went back up to the lab to retrieve the patellae, and they came up with a fake conversation about transporting the sculpture to Bethesda under the pretense of utilizing advanced medical technology to find out if anything had been hidden within the bones. Brennan overplayed her role slightly as she inserted the bones into the sculpture, and Booth was visited by the urge to smack his palm into his forehead. He only hoped that Gormogon would believe the ruse in spite of her poor acting.

A couple of agents drove an empty delivery truck from the Jeffersonian toward Bethesda, and Booth decided to follow behind in a taxi. Brennan bickered about the advisability of sitting in the front seat, since passengers generally chose to sit in back. Before Booth could give much of a response, a motorcycle pulled up next to Booth's side of the car, revving its engine deliberately.

The driver's face was concealed by a helmet, and he wore an ordinary black backpack. He looked directly at Booth then sped forward to pull ahead of the taxi. The delivery truck turned a corner, and the motorcycle followed closely behind, disappearing from Booth's sight just long enough for the driver to drop his backpack in the middle of the road. Both partners spotted the bag, and Booth hit the brakes instinctively, stopping just short of the backpack.

"Get down!" he shouted at her, throwing the car into reverse. Brennan had barely begun to take cover when the backpack exploded in the street. The impact of the bomb flipped the taxi completely upside down, shattering windows and bending metal until it finally came to rest on its wheels once more.

Booth groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his head. He could already tell that he was bleeding from a wound on his forehead. His body protested any movement, but when he turned to look at his wife, he immediately sprung into action.

"Bones," he called, repeating her name several times as he attempted to kick her door open from the inside. She was unconscious, but she began to stir at the sound of his voice. "Don't move," he commanded as he hauled himself out of the driver's side window. Booth winced as he fell backward to the concrete and got to his feet, circling around the taxi so that he could help her. Brennan was still dazed when he reached her, but she managed to follow his instruction to put her arm around his shoulder so that he could pull her through the open window. He wrapped his arms around her torso, securing her body to his own as he half-carried her to the nearby sidewalk.

"I'm fine… I'm okay," she said weakly, clinging to his shoulders. He nearly rolled his eyes at her assurance, and as soon as they collapsed onto the concrete, he was taking stock of her injuries. She was bleeding profusely from a gash on her forehead, and her clothing was spattered with blood. He looked up to see a uniformed agent running toward them.

"Who's got the motorcycle?" Booth asked him, back on his feet in an instant.

"Nobody. We lost the follow car."

"Damn it," he cursed, kicking a chunk of rubble away from him. "Wait, what about the truck?"

"It's fine."

"Wait…" Booth grunted through another surge of pain in his head. "He knew the truck was a decoy. He wasn't trying to get the skeleton back; he was trying to kill us."

"Booth," Brennan groaned. He looked back to see her examining a wound on her upper left arm. Blood was saturating the sleeve of her jacket at an alarming rate, and when he stepped closer to get a better look, he spotted some sort of shrapnel in the wound.

"Alright, easy. I've got it," he insisted, stopping her from pulling the object out herself. She whimpered a little as he removed…

"It's a human tooth," Brennan announced, studying it closely. "He put human teeth in his bomb for shrapnel."

"Bones, he tried to kill us because… We know his next target. The corruptor. That lobbyist." An ambulance pulled up next to them as he spoke, and he ordered the EMTs to take care of her. Booth took off running toward a nearby FBI SUV, intending to commandeer it from the agent who had spoken with him earlier.

"Wait, I want to come!" Brennan shouted.

"Stay right there!" he yelled back, still running.

Brennan watched her husband drive off in an SUV identical to his own and tried to wave off the concerned paramedics. They got her patched up reasonably well, but they insisted that her head wound required stitches. She didn't hear from Booth again until the ER doctor was nearly finished with the sutures.

"Where are you?" he asked anxiously as soon as she answered the phone.

"The ER. I needed stitches," she grumbled. When he appeared in front of her a short while later, Brennan was shocked at the state of him. The bleeding from his head wound had slowed, but he was utterly drenched from head to toe.

"Why are you all wet?"

Booth let the doctor check his head wound and was pleased that he wouldn't need stitches. As they made their way home for a change of clothes, he explained that he had most likely interrupted the murder of the lobbyist. Ray Porter had been tied up in his home, and Gormogon had fled through the back door when Booth had arrived. He'd chased the man through several backyards and eventually caught up with him near a neighbor's swimming pool. Gormogon had still been wearing the motorcycle helmet when he picked up a young boy and dove into the pool, holding him on the bottom until Booth dove in to intervene. As soon as Booth had reached them, the man had made a break for it, disappearing just as Booth reached the surface with the boy.

"Do you think it was the master or the apprentice? Jason Harkness is dead, so… Does that mean he's working alone now?" Brennan asked curiously. They had reached the house and were in the process of changing into new clothing.

"I'm not sure, but this guy was either fairly young or in really great shape. He was fast," Booth replied. "I need to go to the Hoover. I've got to touch base with my team about the bomb, give a statement… You should stay here." The expression on her face told him that she had no intention of following that advice.

"I need to go talk to Russ," she said, slipping her shoes on. "I can drop you off at the Hoover on my way. Your SUV is still at the lab anyway. Do you know where he's being held?"

"Yeah," Booth sighed, wondering if it would be worth expending his limited energy to argue with her over going anywhere alone. "He's in the same place as your dad. I know he's not a violent offender, but I figured that maybe he wouldn't have to watch his back so much if Max was with him."

"Thank you," Brennan said softly.

"Don't thank me too much. I'm having an agent tail you while we're separated." She opened her mouth to protest, but he headed her off. "Gormogon just tried to kill us, Bones. You're lucky I'm letting you go at all."

Brennan fought the natural instinct to argue with his presumption, and she reluctantly agreed with the plan. She promised she would go straight back to the Hoover after she spoke with Russ.

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The warden agreed to let Brennan see Russ in the same private visitation room they granted for her visits to Max. She paced the room while she waited for him, and when he finally joined her, he was shocked at her appearance.

"Tempe, what happened to you?"

"I got blown up," she replied quickly, having momentarily forgotten the sutured gash on her forehead. In the hours since the explosion, a dark bruise had blossomed on her cheek as well. Brennan didn't give him time to comment on her injuries. "Russ, I never told Dad that you should turn yourself in to Booth."

"If I'd come to you, you'd have told Booth anyway," he insisted. "What do you mean 'blown up?'"

"It's a case, Russ. It's my job. We're trying to put a bad guy away."

"You mean in here? With other bad guys like me? And Dad?"

"There are levels of 'bad guy,' Russ," she shook her head dismissively. "You're not even on the first level."

"Why do I feel like you just called me a sissy?" he retorted. Brennan sighed, beginning to lose her patience.

"I wanted you to hear it from me, Russ. Dad lied. I never told him it was safe to come back."

"I _had_ to come back, Tempe."

"For Hayley," she nodded.

"Yes… But they're gonna put me away after my parole hearing."

"It's not just that you violated parole," she reminded him. "They think you know something about Dad's murder case."

"I don't," he insisted, frustrated by the doubt he saw in her expression. "Nobody believes anybody in this family. What? Maybe I'm just like him, right? A liar, not worthy of trust."

"No… Don't say that." Brennan was torn, wanting to trust him again but unable to forget the reasons she didn't. She watched him pace irritably across the room.

"I _am_ just like him. I am," he shrugged angrily. "I had a family; I left them."

"You haven't killed anyone," she offered weakly.

"Is that… That's the most reassuring you can be? 'Hey Russ, congratulations on never killing anyone.'" His tone was mocking, and she cringed.

"Being reassuring is not my strong suit," she admitted, finally collapsing into her usual seat.

"Levels of 'bad,' right?" he said, deflating visibly as he took the opposite chair. "And I'm a sissy."

"It's a _good_ thing, Russ." They sat in silence for a moment, and she could see that his mind was somewhere else.

"Thanks for helping Hayley. I love that little girl like she was my own. You believe _that_ , don't you?"

"Of course, Russ. I feel the same way about Parker. I'd do anything for him." Russ sighed and pursed his lips in remorse.

"I'm sorry I missed your wedding. I wish I could've been there for real," he said wistfully.

"You did show up though. At least in some way. I don't have any pictures with me right now, but Dad should have some he can show you." She had eventually gotten around to sharing her wedding album with him, and he'd been thrilled to be given a few photographs to put on the wall next to his bunk. "I'm… I'm sorry that Booth had to arrest you. Since you came to his office, there's a record of your visit. Witnesses. If he'd let you go and someone had found out about it later, he would've gotten into serious trouble. Probably would've lost his job."

"He thinks I need to take responsibility for my actions," Russ surmised. Brennan nodded reluctantly. "Is that what you think too?"

"Yes. Even Dad is doing it. You should too." She frowned when he averted his eyes, looking very much like the young boy she remembered. "You said that no one trusts anyone in this family, and you were right. That's because some of us keep running away, keep hiding, keep lying to save ourselves… If we're all going to trust one another ever again, like we used to, then everyone needs a clean slate. And that means taking responsibility for the things we've done wrong."

"What are _you_ taking responsibility for?" Russ asked dubiously. Brennan shrugged indulgently.

"I've never committed a crime, but I know that I have a tendency to hold a grudge. I've been trying very hard to let things go. I'm trying to make amends with you… and Dad. I'm trying to forgive him, but there are things that…" she trailed off, wishing she could speak openly about the things she'd learned over the past few months.

"What?" he encouraged, reading her hesitation easily.

"Did you and Dad ever talk about… about my experiences in the system?" she asked carefully. Russ looked surprised at her question and gave a small nod.

"He asked me what I knew about it. We actually got into a big fight when he first came to see me last year. He was pissed at me for leaving you. Rightfully so. We talked for a while. I didn't want to get into it because I knew how much it would hurt him to hear it, but he wore me down. I told him what you told me, but I tried to keep the details to a minimum. Why are you asking me that now? Did Dad say something?"

"No," she said quickly. "Did you… Were you guys ever near Chicago while you were on the run?"

"No." Russ's forehead wrinkled in renewed confusion. "He got me settled somewhere else pretty quickly and took off again. Why?"

"Forget it," she muttered, not meeting his eyes. Brennan stood abruptly and reached for her bag. "I'm really tired. I need to get home."

"Yeah," he nodded. "You look like hell. Be careful, alright? I know guys in prison who don't get hurt as often as you seem to." Brennan rolled her eyes but gave him a reluctant smile, and he stood up as well to hug her goodbye. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too."

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 **Thanks for reading. Review if you have a quick second. It really means a lot. Thanks and see you Wednesday!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy Monday! I'm surprising you with this chapter two days early because I managed to finish the final chapter over the weekend, and I didn't think anyone would object. ;)**

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Chapter 14

After leaving the prison, Brennan and her less-than-covert surveillance agent drove straight to the Hoover. When she exited her car in the parking structure, she nodded in acknowledgment of the agent she vaguely recognized. Booth was in a meeting with Cullen, so she sought out Caroline Julian, hoping that she might be willing to help her brother.

Brennan asked if Caroline would be willing to speak on Russ's behalf and encourage the judge to release him. Caroline didn't feel it would be right, but she compromised by arranging for Brennan to speak at his parole hearing. Brennan was disappointed but thanked her nonetheless, and by the time she got back to Booth's office, he had finished his meeting. He greeted her affectionately and waited while she took a call from Zack. Booth had been hoping that they could go home, but the expression on his wife's face told him otherwise. He groaned and gestured that she should lead the way.

They found Zack in the Bone Room, studying several images on the large flatscreen. The FBI had delivered as many of the shrapnel teeth as possible, and Zack had been able to reverse engineer a dental set. They matched some of the gnaw marks on several bones from the completed skeleton. Brennan cringed at the realization that Gormogon's tooth had been embedded in her arm. Zack also noted the presence of chipping on nearly every tooth that had been recovered, and he insisted that the damage hadn't been caused by the bomb. Instead, the chips had been caused by pliers, which implied that Gormogon had removed his own teeth and used them in the bomb.

When Booth and Brennan finally got home that evening, they helped one another shower and clean their wounds before bed. She gave him a summary of her conversations with both Russ and Caroline, but by the time they were lying in bed, her mind had drifted back to Zack's most recent findings.

"I hate that a cannibal's tooth was in my arm," she admitted, looking in disgust at the bandage on her left bicep.

"I don't blame you," Booth agreed. He gently touched his fingertips to her chin, urging her to look at him rather than her arm. "Let's stop talking about the case for tonight, okay? Think about something else? Maybe we can focus on… what you want for Christmas?"

Brennan smiled at the reminder that the holiday was quickly approaching. They'd done some shopping for Parker and the squints, but they hadn't discussed their plans in much detail. In that moment, she knew precisely what she wanted for herself and her family.

"Can we take a little vacation? We'll have Parker for a week. We could just take some time off... relax?" He could hear the hope in her voice, and he smiled in response.

"That's a great idea, Bones, but I was asking what _you_ want for Christmas."

"All I really want is to be with my family. To be with you and Parker. Plus, I think we could both use some time off from...everything."

"What about Max and Russ?" he reminded her hesitantly. She shrugged halfheartedly.

"They'll probably both still be in jail, so… I can go visit them for a little while before we leave."

"Will that be enough?"

"It'll be more than we've done for the past sixteen years," Brennan scoffed. Booth nodded, deciding to let it go for the time being. He could see that she still in a bit of pain from her injuries, and she looked as exhausted as he was.

"Alright, baby. Let's get some sleep, okay?" His arms tightened around her as she burrowed into his neck and inhaled his scent deeply. He breath tickled slightly, and he smiled into the darkness. "I love you."

"I love you too, Booth."

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In spite of their late night, Booth and Brennan headed to the lab early the next morning. They were both eager to make more progress on the case. To no one's surprise, Zack was already on the platform, and he'd found something odd on one of the ribs of the completed skeleton. The number 1026 was carved into the bone. Angela postulated that Gormogon had used it as a signature, much as an artist would sign a work of art. Cam suggested that they check the vault for security deposit box 1026. Unfortunately, all of the boxes were rigged with minor explosives. They generally weren't powerful enough to really injure anyone, but it would effectively destroy whatever was in the box.

Zack proposed a method to neutralize the explosive for long enough to retrieve the contents of the deposit box. Booth, Brennan and Cam gathered around him in the vault as he explained his thought process.

"What I'm doing is smothering the phosphorus with argon. Thus, giving Booth time to reach in with the tongs and remove whatever is inside the box before it ignites."

"Why me?"

"Because you have the fastest reflexes," Brennan answered promptly.

"Alright, then you can pull the tray," he replied. Brennan agreed, and Cam stepped back several feet while the three of them worked together to remove a plastic key card from within the box. No sooner had Booth lifted it from the tray than the tiny fuse caused a flash burn within the tray, which momentarily blinded Zack.

The key card had a barcode on it, and Booth had forensics trace the origin. It turned out to be the key to room 1026 in the Municipal Department of Social Services. They tracked down the woman who now worked in that office, and she agreed to meet with Booth and Brennan at the Hoover.

Joyce Hewitt was a social services employee, and when they showed her the key card, she explained that keys like that hadn't been used in her building since the 70s. At that time, the occupant of office 1026 had worked with foster care and group homes. Brennan reminded Booth of Sweets' prediction that Gormogon probably had access to at-risk children at some point. Joyce explained that the man who had been in the office before her had retired and that he was something of a legend in the department. His name was Arthur Graves, and he had helped many children 'find their way.' He was now living in a nursing home that had been converted from an old mansion.

Booth and Brennan shared a significant look, both recalling that particular point of interest on Angela's map of the city. They thanked Joyce and followed her from the building. When they arrived at Restview Nursing Home, an orderly introduced himself as Mark Naylor and escorted them into one of the common rooms.

"Mr. Graves has been here for five years," Mark informed them. "In a wheelchair for the last four. Sweet guy… a little picky about what he eats," he shrugged.

"You have no idea," Booth muttered under his breath.

"Beg your pardon?"

"What's wrong with Mr. Graves?" Brennan asked, covering for her husband's sarcasm.

"Alzheimer's. The last few months, it's gotten really bad."

"Is he lucid?" Booth asked.

"He comes and goes." When they reached a balding man in a leather armchair, Mark addressed him directly. "Hey, Arthur. There are some nice people here to see you."

"Hey, Mr. Graves," Booth said evenly, holding his badge in front of the man's face. "FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth. Listen, we've got a court order here… to get a dental imprint from you." Graves showed no signs that he'd heard or understood Booth, and Brennan stepped forward cautiously.

"Mr. Graves, I'm not going to hurt you," she warned him. "I just need you to bite down on this for me." She held out her hand, moving the impression wax toward him. Graves suddenly turned toward her and hissed loudly, opening his mouth to show a complete lack of teeth. Mark apologized for his behavior.

"How did he lose his teeth?" Booth asked.

"They'd all been pulled when he got here."

"Does he have any regular visitors?"

"There used to be a man," Mark recalled. "He drove a motorcycle. I believe he may have been a nephew."

"We know who you are," Brennan told Graves, glowering at him as he stared straight ahead without acknowledging her. "We know what you did." She began to move toward him again, but Booth placed his hands lightly on her shoulders to restrain her.

"Alright, Bones, it's okay. Let's go. We'll check out his case files and see what kind of kids he could have recruited. Come on, let's go." He urged her from the room, but he didn't miss the satisfied smirk on Graves' face as they left.

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They picked up lunch on the way to the courthouse for Russ's parole hearing. Booth had called in a few favors in preparation for the hearing, but he was slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of sitting in on it.

"While we're here, I'm gonna get a court order to monitor Arthur Graves' visitors. Just in case Gorgonzola decides to come back and visit his old master."

"You're doing that Gorgonzola thing on purpose, aren't you?" He merely smirked in response as they approached Amy, who was sitting on a bench in the hallway.

"Hi, Temperance." Amy greeted her with a smile, but it faded when she looked at Booth. She was clearly unhappy with him for having arrested Russ. Booth stepped away for a moment, and Amy handed Brennan a drawing that Hayley had made for her. It showed a stick-figure family, and the little girl had written 'Thank You Auntie Temperance' across the top. Amy reported that Hayley was feeling much better today and had even wanted to come along.

A court officer called Booth and Brennan into the judge's chambers where Russ, Caroline, and Russ's parole officer were already waiting. Booth shook hands with Erica Davis, recalling belatedly that he had spoken to her on the phone a few times in the past. Once the meeting was underway, Ms. Davis defended Russ's actions quite passionately. Caroline disagreed with her belief that Russ could be trusted not to run, and the judge decided he'd rather hear from Booth rather than Brennan.

Booth shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waived the opportunity to speak. Brennan was surprised and confused by her husband's refusal, but the judge went on to say that he'd received calls from the Archbishop of DC as well as Dr. Sweets. The priest had promised to take a personal interest in Russ's rehabilitation, and Dr. Sweets had professed a belief that Russ would not flee the area again.

In the end, the judge made his ruling from Ms. Davis' suggestion that Russ spend the next thirty days in jail and have another eighteen months added to his parole. It was also stipulated that upon his release, he would be required to wear an ankle monitor.

"Thank you," Brennan told her husband as they were leaving. They watched Russ hug Amy goodbye before being led away by the court officers.

"I didn't do anything," he denied, not meeting her eyes.

"Sweets and the Archbishop called the judge on their own then?" she challenged. He didn't answer, but she saw his lips twitch slightly. She stopped his progress toward the building's exit and pulled him into a deep kiss. Booth was taken aback by her actions, conscious of the fact that dozens of people were watching them.

"Wow," he breathed when she eventually ended the kiss. Her answering smile was infectious.

"Again, thank you. I'm not sure why you didn't just speak for yourself though," she replied as they made their way back to the SUV.

"He needs to take responsibility, just like you told him. I can deny calling in the favors, but I already lied to his parole officer for him once. I told him that it would be the last time, and he needed to know that I meant it."

"I'm pretty sure he knows you made those calls, Booth."

"What calls?" he grinned. She smiled back and held his hand.

They went back to the hospital to visit with Hayley, who was indeed looking much better. Booth took a seat nearby and watched his wife read to her from The Secret Garden.

"'Why was I forgotten?' Mary said, stamping her foot. 'Why does nobody come?' The young man, whose name was Barney, looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away…" Brennan smiled down at Hayley before she continued the passage.

Booth felt a familiar ache in his chest as he listened to his wife read a story about a little girl who had been left alone, abandoned and forgotten. He realized with regret that Russ's girls had probably felt that way when Russ had left, but Booth was glad that they'd at least had their mother during that time. He hoped that Russ would make good on his word and clean up his act.

Children needed their parents.

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The cannibalistic murders continued to be an ongoing case, but Gormogon seemed to have gone underground. Ray Porter had gone missing, and Booth was fairly certain that the next time they saw him would be on the forensic platform. Booth and Brennan had a minor argument about safety precautions following the disappearance of the lobbyist. He wanted to continue utilizing FBI agents to follow her around town, but Brennan believed that it would be a waste of the Bureau's resources.

"Why can't I just carry my gun? I have a permit, and Cullen's finally okay with it. And you know I'm a good shot," she insisted.

He was wearing his tight-lipped scowl, but they both knew that her suggestion was a reasonable compromise. Booth acknowledged, privately at least, that he was probably being a little overprotective, but he'd come too close to losing her too many times. Her safety would always be a top priority for him, no matter how much it got on her nerves.

"Okay," he sighed. Her face lit up, and he quickly added, " _But_ … If anything new develops in the Gormogon case, you get your tail back." Brennan stifled the urge to roll her eyes and agreed with his stipulation.

As the Christmas holiday loomed ever nearer, Booth and Brennan kept busy with work, shopping, and planning their vacation. They were both able to attend Parker's Christmas play at school this year, which made Parker exceptionally happy. Rebecca was polite and introduced them to her new boyfriend after the show. He seemed like a decent enough guy, but Booth kept a close eye on him until they left.

When they got home that evening, they finalized the plans for their trip. Since Parker hadn't been able to go to North Carolina with them the last time they'd made a beach trip, they decided to take him to Key West. He'd never seen the ocean before, and both partners were looking forward to a break from the DC winter. They planned to rent a small beach cottage and return home on New Year's Day.

In addition to their holiday preparations and busy work schedules, Brennan also made even more of an effort to visit her father and brother. Ironically, or perhaps not, her sleepless nights and loss of appetite began to diminish after she made the decision to work harder at her relationship with Max. She was finding it much easier to move forward with Russ, but she was doing her best to mend things with her father as well. During one of her visits with her brother, he asked her to register as a foster parent so that Hayley and Emma would be taken care of should something happen to Amy while he was in prison. Brennan was surprised but pleased by his request, and she promised to discuss it with Booth.

"I think it's a good idea, Bones. I'm surprised neither of them brought it up before now."

"I know. I thought of that too, but… he's asking now. I told him I'd discuss it with you," she replied.

"You know it's fine with me, baby. At least then we'll know that the girls wouldn't end up with the sort of people you got stuck with."

Brennan agreed with that perspective wholeheartedly. She didn't like to think of any child being in those situations, but she was especially protective of her nieces. The fact that Russ trusted her to take care of his daughters in an emergency went a long way toward earning her forgiveness for the events of the previous Christmas.

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When she next visited her father, it was less than a week before Christmas. She had decided to leave work a little early and stop at the prison on the way home. She had finally gotten to the point that she could feel comfortable in a room with her father, though there were still awkward moments here and there.

"You haven't asked me why I'm strapped in these chains," Max said, indicating the large, fake chains draped around his neck.

"Well, you're in jail," she grinned.

"No, I'm in dress rehearsal for 'A Christmas Carol.'"

"You're Jacob Marley?"

"Yeah. I wanted to be Scrooge, but some triple homicide in cell block H got the part. You don't wanna know how," he winked. Brennan laughed at his joke, and for once, her mind didn't immediately jump to how many murders _he'd_ committed. "What are you going to do for Christmas?"

"Booth and I are taking Parker to Key West. He's never seen the ocean, and he's really excited about going to the beach for a few days. We're spending New Year's Eve there too." She'd been invited on a dig in Peru, but she'd turned it down without even mentioning it to Booth. Under normal circumstances, he probably would've approved of the trip since it would've been a safe one, but there was no way she was going to leave her family on Christmas.

"No snow? Doesn't sound very Christmas-y."

"We'll have the gifts and the food...and each other," she shrugged. "We're looking forward to it." Max's face fell slightly.

"You know what I'd like? I'd like to spend another Christmas with… with kids. With a family, with a tree." His expression was hopeful, but Brennan couldn't stop herself from pointing out the reality of the situation.

"You're in jail, Dad. So is Russ. Mom's dead."

"Yeah," he nodded sadly. "And Christmas is overrated anyway. People expect it to be so perfect, and it never is." His morose expression belied the optimism of his words, and Brennan tried to think of a way to bring his smile back.

"I remember the Christmas you and mom gave me the toolbox," she told him. "That was great."

"Yeah," Max brightened. "Except that the toolbox was for _Russ_. But you decided that it was yours, and he let you have it."

"He did?" she laughed, thinking of how different Christmas used to be when she was young, compared to what it was now. Her father and brother were in jail, but at least she wasn't alone anymore. That was something.

"I hope that...someday...we can have Christmas together again." His features were lined with sorrow again, and Brennan was at a loss for words. There was every possibility that Max would be found guilty of murdering Robert Kirby, and if that happened, he would most likely receive the death penalty. She didn't like to think about it.

As though he could somehow sense her discomfort, Booth chose that precise moment to text her about a new crime scene. She sighed in relief as she read the message, then immediately felt a little guilty for being happy that someone had died.

"I've gotta go look at a dead person," she said bluntly. Max chuckled ruefully.

"You never were good at sugar coating things."

Brennan smiled apologetically and left the room. When she met up with Booth at the lab, the conversation with Max was still weighing heavily upon her as she changed into her crime scene gear. Night had fallen by the time they were on their way to the crime scene, but even in the relative darkness of the SUV, Booth could tell that she was upset.

"You've got that sad little girl look on your face again," he remarked. She looked at him with watery eyes.

"No, I don't," she replied, a little petulant. He gave her a knowing look, and she rolled her eyes. "He wishes we could spend Christmas together with Russ and… 'kids.'"

"Okay. Why can't you?"

"They're both in jail," she reminded him unnecessarily. "It's impossible. Besides, we'll be in Florida."

"Well, nobody said it had to be _on Christmas_. Why not go visit them both a few days before we leave? I'd say we could all go, but Parker will be with Rebecca and Captain Fantastic," he said, his voice growing bitter toward the end of his statement.

"Captain Fantastic?" she echoed, confused by the change in direction. "Are you talking about Brent?" Booth merely grumbled in response, and Brennan turned toward him in her seat. "Booth, that attitude is completely ridiculous. Have you even _looked_ at yourself in a mirror lately? You're a decorated war veteran, a supervising agent with the FBI, _you put murderers behind bars_. Feeling insecure about Rebecca's new boyfriend is completely illogical." Booth seemed to perk up a bit, and a smile played about his lips.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Plus, I have a gorgeous wife who kicks ass right along with me, right?"

"Sure," she laughed. He reached over to hold her hand, and they both fell silent for a few moments.

"You know… They have a trailer at the jail. Mostly for conjugal visits," he mused aloud.

"...So?"

"So maybe you can give your dad what he wants for Christmas. Amy could bring the kids, both your dad and Russ could be there…and you. You might have to pull some strings to get the trailer-"

"I'm not a string puller. _You're_ a string puller."

"I've seen you pull some strings," Booth replied, thinking back over the many perks they'd enjoyed thanks to her reputation as both a scientist and an author. Brennan shook her head in denial but opted to change the subject.

"Where are we going?"

"Early Christmas present," he grinned. "Dead guy in a sewer."

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The body turned out to be that of a bearded, elderly man wearing a Santa suit. The team traded lame jokes about the possibility of the victim being Santa Claus, and the preliminary analysis went fairly quickly. Once the body was on its way to the Jeffersonian, Booth and Brennan went home for the night.

"So are you going to look into the trailer thing I mentioned?" Booth asked as they climbed into bed.

"I don't know. Who would I even talk to about it?"

"I'd start with Caroline."

"The last time I asked her for a favor, she wasn't exactly forthcoming," Brennan reminded him. "Besides, my parents left me at Christmas, and Russ left not long after. _Twice_. It doesn't exactly make me eager to bend over sideways. Why should I?" Booth sighed and pressed her into his chest.

"Backwards. You don't want to bend over _backwards_ , but you should because... you're not them, Bones. You're not your parents _or_ your brother. You're better."

"You've said that before," she sighed, recalling his reassurances that, in spite of having had to shoot Gil Lappin, she was not a murderer like her father.

"And it's still true," he insisted. "Why don't you sleep on it, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow." He brushed his lips across hers, but what he'd intended as a gentle goodnight kiss quickly turned into something more passionate. Brennan's tongue traced the smooth contour of his lower lip, and he immediately granted her entry. They moaned together as the kiss deepened, and Booth smiled when he felt her hands pulling his shirt upward.

There was an urgency in her touch, and he understood that she needed to get her mind off of everything. Their work, their plans, their family dramas… She needed to renew that connection between them, to experience that bond that made them feel like the only two people in the world. In achingly slow movements, they peeled each other out of their clothing until there was nothing between them. Not even air. Their mouths worshipped one another, reveling in every expanse of heated skin, every scar, every perfect imperfection.

Their bodies were moving rhythmically before they were even truly joined, and when Booth sank into her, the pace was slow, hard, and heavy. They never broke eye contact as they climbed the summit together, clinging, gasping, and craving more. He felt her clench down on him as he watched her eyes change to his favorite shade of blue, swallowing her cry of pleasure with his lips when he spilled inside of her. The aftershocks of their lovemaking were punctuated with kisses and caresses until at last they collapsed in one another's arms, whispering words of love and promise.

Booth fell asleep fairly quickly, but Brennan's thoughts kept her awake for a while. Their lovemaking had granted the clarity of mind she had needed, and she began to replay their previous conversation in her head. She realized that Booth was right, yet again. She wasn't like Max. She didn't solve problems by killing people, and she would never, _ever_ leave her children behind, no matter what the circumstances. She decided that helping Max with Christmas might be a way to prove that, at least to herself. She made a plan to get Russ and Amy on board first, reasoning that there would be no sense in provoking Caroline for something that might not even be logistically possible.

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Brennan called Amy on her way to the prison the next morning, and she was immediately on board with the plan. Russ had missed Christmas with his stepdaughters last year, and Brennan felt sure that he would jump at the chance to spend at least a little time with them this Christmas. However, when she told Russ about the plan as well as her phone call to his girlfriend, his response was not at all what she'd expected.

"You shouldn't have done that," Russ told her, upset.

"Amy said the girls have been asking about you…"

"I lied to them, Tempe. The girls don't even know I'm in here. They think I went overseas to work," he said, his irritation growing. Brennan frowned and averted her eyes for a moment while she gathered her thoughts.

"It's Christmas. They need you. You made a mistake by leaving them last year; don't do that again. There's nothing worse than being abandoned at-" she stopped herself mid-sentence, not wishing to talk about her past or to make him feel guilty. Russ stared back at her with eyes full of pain and regret, his previous anger dissolving.

"You think it would be better for them to find out that the guy they think is so wonderful is actually a criminal?"

"When I found out Dad wasn't dead, I was happy, even though it turned out he was-"

"A murderer," he stated frankly. She sighed and fiddled with the gloves she'd taken off upon entering the facility.

"You are not a murderer, Russ."

"It doesn't sound like a good Christmas present to me."

"You could explain it-"

"No, Tempe," he cut her off again. "It's not going to happen."

Brennan's disappointment was evident on her face, but Russ wasn't swayed. She drove to the lab wondering if perhaps she should just let it go. She hated to think of her nieces missing their stepfather at the holidays again, but she couldn't see a way around it. When she entered her office, she was surprised to see Booth asleep on the couch. She'd expected him to be in his own office by now, even though she had left the house earlier than usual to make time for her visit with Russ.

"Booth," she said in a quiet tone, trying to rouse him gently. Waking her husband abruptly was always a bad idea. His years as a soldier had left him with physical reactions he couldn't always control, particularly while he was asleep. "Booth…" she crooned again.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his eyes still closed. She waited until he was alert enough to see her quizzical expression and held her hand to his forehead to check his temperature. "Sorry," he mumbled, sitting up.

"Why are you here? Asleep… Are you feeling alright? Did you not sleep well last night? You fell asleep so quickly..." She fired off her questions faster than he could answer, and he gave her a weary smile to reassure her.

"I'm fine. I was just waiting for the squints to come up with something. Must've dozed off." He shrugged off her concern, but in reality his feet were hurting more than usual. Winter was always the worst time of the year when it came to his aches and pains. What he really wanted was to go back to sleep. He opted to change the subject instead. "How did it go with Russ?"

"He says he doesn't want the girls to come," Brennan replied, watching his careful movements suspiciously.

"Why not?"

"They don't know he's in prison. Apparently, Russ and Amy told them that he's working overseas somewhere."

"Well, maybe we can work something out. Christmas… is about making the impossible happen," he said contemplatively. Brennan looked like she wanted to argue, but settled for a kiss instead.

"Why don't you close your eyes for a little while longer," she suggested as she stood up to change into her labcoat. He still looked exhausted, and she was concerned he might be coming down with something. "I'm going to go check in with everyone and see where we are on an ID. I'll come get you when we have a lead."

"Mmkay," he mumbled in agreement, already sinking back into the sofa. "Love you."

"Love you too," she smiled, closing her office door behind her.

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The victim's similarities to Santa Claus apparently didn't stop with his beard and wardrobe. His teeth bore particulate evidence from what Hodgins suspected might have been a clay pipe, and Zack found damage to his sacrum that indicated he may have been kicked by a cloven hoof. The FBI lab had managed to pull partial prints from the inside of his gloves, and the ID came back as one Kristopher Kringle, which actually turned out to be his real name. He had been employed by the DC school board as a professional Santa.

Brennan returned to her office to wake her husband again, and when he stood up, it was immediately clear to her what was troubling him. Her eyebrows contracted in alarm.

"Booth, why didn't you say anything?"

"About what?" he groaned, stretching gingerly.

"Your feet, obviously. Did you take anything?" She hovered over him in concern. "I might have something in my bag…"

"I took some ibuprofen. We have a case; it's not like I can take anything stronger than that." He pulled on a warm gray sweater before adding his suit jacket, and Brennan sighed when saw him wince as he stepped toward her. "Let's get going. You got an ID, right?"

"Yeah," she replied, still distracted. "You'll never guess who it is." He took the file from her outstretched hand and laughed out loud in spite of his pain.

"Seriously? That's his real name?"

"Apparently."

"Alright, let's go."

"Do you want me to drive?" she offered hopefully. The look he gave her made it clear that his feet would never hurt _that_ badly, and Brennan smiled knowingly.

She donned her coat, gloves, and hat as they made their way out of the lab to the SUV. She didn't notice Booth's repeated glances in her direction as they made their way to the address in Kristopher Kringle's missing persons file. He couldn't help but smile as he gazed at her, thinking that her gray, knitted stocking cap was quite possibly the most adorable thing he'd ever seen her wear. It made for a nice distraction from her running commentary on Santa myths from around the globe.

"Well, there's the old Dutch 'Sinterklaas,'" she rambled, stepping into the street with so little precaution that Booth was forced to grab her arm so that she wouldn't be hit by a moving vehicle.

"Watch out," he admonished.

"I'm looking," she insisted. He rolled his eyes and tried to slow his thundering pulse.

"You're gonna get hit by a car."

"He had a partner named 'Black Peter' who carried a whip to beat naughty children," she continued as they crossed the street. The victim's address was in the middle of a shopping district, and holiday traffic had prevented them from parking any closer. "Myths are traditionally used to control behavior. For instance, the story of Moses bringing the Ten Commandments…"

Booth pulled her to a stop on the sidewalk and surprised her with a kiss. They ignored the steady stream of pedestrians weaving around them, and by the time they separated, Brennan was short of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and it wasn't from the cold.

"What was that for?" she asked dazedly.

"To get you to stop trash-talking Santa," he smirked. "And because you look adorable in that hat." She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off of her face.

"I was only stating facts, and…you look very handsome today too," she admitted. He'd taken to layering a sweater under his suit jacket, and it had the effect of making his shoulders look even broader, if that were possible. "You look very...warm," Brennan added. She slipped her arms beneath his coat to wrap them around his waist and leaned up to kiss him again. They continued until a stranger advised them loudly to 'get a room.'

"Right," Booth sighed, attempting to gather his scattered wits. "Maybe we should continue this later."

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 **I love BB PDA. :) Of course, Brennan won't be skipping off to Peru in my story, but I did feel like she and Booth deserved some time away. Someone even mentioned that in a review or something, and I had to chuckle because I'd already written it.**

 **Review or you'll get coal in your stocking. ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Happy Humpday! There's a bit of smut in this one to celebrate. ;)**

 **Lots happening in this chapter, and I'm sure you'll notice some pretty big changes. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 15

To their mutual surprise and amusement, the victim's address turned out to be a small apartment over a toy store. The landlord unlocked the door for them, and when Booth flipped on the light switch, they were stunned by the sight that greeted them. Tinsel and twinkle lights lined every wall, a model train ran a circuit on an elevated track around the living room, and Christmas music began to play automatically. They both stared in amazement, taking in every detail.

"Wow," Booth said, smiling widely. "Parker would love this place." Brennan nodded in agreement, still overwhelmed by the sensory overload. They made their way through the small apartment, finding milk, cookies, and reindeer food in the refrigerator and a full Santa-style wardrobe in the closet. The victim had framed a photograph of himself standing next to a reindeer, and Brennan wondered aloud if it was the same one that had kicked him.

In one of Kris Kringle's drawers full of ugly Christmas sweaters, Booth discovered a false bottom that concealed a large amount of loose cash. All of the bills were small denominations with the exception of a small stack of crisp fifty-dollar bills with sequential serial numbers. The landlord was surprised to see that his tenant had stashed that amount of money, particularly since he'd been behind on his rent. The man was able to give them the name of the temporary employment agency where the victim had worked, and the partners decided to make that their next stop.

As they made their way across town, Brennan's thoughts were once again focused on the upcoming holiday.

"How much longer are you going to let Parker believe in Santa?" she asked curiously. Booth glanced at her in surprise and gave a noncommittal shrug. "Don't you worry that he'll be teased for it at school?"

"Not yet, Bones. He's only six. I hope that we'll have a few more years before we need to worry about that."

"But you don't feel bad about lying to him?"

"Nah… Santa is magic. It's okay for kids to believe in that. When Parker's ready to let go of that belief, then I'll tell him the truth," he reasoned.

"How will either of you know when he reaches that point?" she persisted.

"Well, even now, Parker occasionally asks me if Santa is real. I always respond by asking what _he_ thinks. Parker has always answered that he thinks he's real, but eventually his answer will change. When that day comes, then I'll know he's ready for the truth."

"Hmm," Brennan nodded, approving of his reasoning. "By that logic, Russ should just lie to the girls so they won't know he's in jail."

" _That_ is a brilliant idea," he replied. "Give Russ some civilian clothes and tell the girls he flew in from wherever they think he was." Her answer was interrupted by an incoming text message on her cell, and she fished it out of her coat pocket quickly.

"It's Zack. He says cause of death was head trauma that most likely punctured the superficial temporal artery. He's trying to figure out what kind of object caused the wound."

Booth nodded and pulled into the parking lot of the temp agency. When they entered the building, they found the victim's boss, Dale Owens, in a break room area with a dozen or so other men who were all dressed as Santa. Owens was dismayed to hear of his employee's death and lamented the loss of his number one Santa. Several of the other employees approached them to ask about their co-worker's death, and both partners noticed that more than one of the Santas seemed to be injured. One sported a healing black eye, and a few others admitted to aching shins from being kicked by numerous children. Everyone insisted that Kris had been a kind and generous man who had always been willing to go out of his way to help others. No one had any suggestions as to who might have been angry enough with the man to kill him.

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Hodgins was able to link evidence found on Kris Kringle's suit to particular Chinese delicacy called bird's nest soup. Due to the cost of the soup ingredients, only one restaurant in Chinatown served the dish. Booth went with Hodgins to confirm the location, which the entomologist accomplished by searching a back alley dumpster. They also found a number of empty wallets in the dumpster and a sewer drain in the same alley. Booth was fairly certain that the victim had gotten into some sort of physical altercation in the alley and then had been pushed into the sewer access. Since the wallets Hodgins found had been emptied of cash, it seemed likely that a pickpocket had probably dumped them there. The IDs and credit cards were still inside, and it would be a simple process to track down the owners.

While Booth was busy in Chinatown, Brennan spent the time attempting to talk Caroline into arranging the conjugal trailer for her father. To her surprise, Caroline agreed to set things up, but she warned that Christmas trees were against the rules. Apparently, someone had once used a Christmas tree star as a weapon.

When she caught up with Booth at the Hoover, he was interrogating the owner of one of the wallets he and Hodgins had found. The man happened to be a police officer, who admitted to having been pickpocketed by a man in a Santa suit. When he'd noticed his wallet was missing, he went back to confront the thief, but the Santa had played dumb. In his anger, the cop had punched him in the face. He claimed that they hadn't been anywhere near an alley of any kind, and that the altercation hadn't escalated any further due to the reactions of the people nearby.

The serial numbers on the stack of fifty-dollar bills from Kris's apartment matched those paid out to the police officer from check cashing business he'd visited just before being pickpocketed. By the time Booth and Brennan headed home for the evening, forensics was in the process of checking the cop's clothing for remnants of the soup Kris Kringle had apparently rolled around in prior to his demise.

Brennan headed back to the prison the following morning in the hopes of changing Russ's mind about Christmas in the conjugal trailer. Russ looked back at her skeptically as she laid out her plan.

"You're going to help me lie to the girls?"

"Well, apparently it's not morally wrong to lie at Christmas," Brennan replied, frowning slightly as she thought of Booth's impassioned defense of holiday magic.

"What if they _know_ I'm lying?" her brother challenged.

"Well, they'll still know that you're doing it out of love."

"Where are you getting this?" he teased. "Because I'm in jail, and I'm getting better advice." Brennan rolled her eyes.

"You tell the girls that Santa is real, right?"

"Yeah, of course. They're kids."

"Then why can't you lie about one more thing? It'll make them happy." She watched him sigh in defeat and continued. "Look, we have a plan. I'll bring you civilian clothes, and the girls will think you popped in from...wherever you told them you are."

"Burma."

"Burma doesn't even exist anymore," she said disapprovingly.

"What happened to it?"

"It became Myanmar… Nevermind. There's another problem with the trailer. No Christmas tree."

"Why not?"

"Shank material," she shrugged apologetically. "Is it important?"

"Christmas? With no tree?" he asked, looking incredulous again.

"They're young, Russ. They believe in Santa Claus. They believe in _you_ because you love them… They'll sit on your lap and open their presents, and they'll believe in you and in Burma, and… Maybe they won't notice that there's no tree." Russ looked down at his lap, hoping that his sister was right about this. "Look, Amy will be there, Dad will be there, the girls will be there…"

"And you," he reminded her.

"I'm…" Brennan faltered, suddenly unsure of her footing. They were scheduled to leave for Florida on the same day that Caroline had managed to book the trailer, and the timing could be tricky. Russ saw her hesitation and frowned.

"Tempe… Dad wants us all. You're one of us."

"It's not that. Booth and I are taking Parker on vacation, and we're leaving that day. I wouldn't be able to stay for very long…" She trailed off, running through the logistics in her mind. _Maybe if we can push the flight until the next morning…_

"Bring your family too," he insisted. "It's Christmas." Brennan met his eyes again and recognized that he was using her own arguments against her. She smiled in defeat and nodded.

"I'll do my best," she said sincerely.

On her way out of the prison, Brennan got a call from Cam. She explained that Zack and Hodgins had determined the murder weapon to be a brass bell, which indicated that Kris Kringle had most likely been assaulted by another Santa. Brennan thanked her for the information and arranged to pick Booth up from the Hoover.

They returned to the victim's place of employment and found the break room cluttered with Santas once again. Chemical testing revealed blood evidence on one of the bells, but they were communal property. It wasn't until Booth and Brennan reluctantly resorted to using their olfactory sense that they determined who had been in a scuffle with their victim. The scent of bird's nest soup was still lingering on the Santa suit of one of the men they'd spoken to previously. He had a healing black eye, apparently from his altercation with the cop he'd pickpocketed, and the other Santas admonished him as he was arrested and taken into custody.

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"Okay, so we've got a gift exchange with the squints, and then we can pick up Parker on the way to the prison," Booth said, speaking aloud as he glanced over their travel itinerary. They had managed to reschedule their flight so that there would be time for Christmas with Brennan's family.

"Are you sure you're okay with taking him there? I can always go alone," she said reluctantly.

"It'll be fine, Bones. It's Christmas, and you are long overdue for a holiday with your _whole_ family."

"But won't he ask awkward questions and-"

"If he does, we'll answer them," Booth assured her quickly. "We don't have to give him details." Brennan pursed her lips doubtfully, recalling Parker's inquisitive nature. Booth glanced at his wife from the driver's seat of the SUV and read the disagreement in her features. "Look, we'll just say that Grandpa Max is in jail for a little while because… Because the police think he broke the law. The jury will decide if he really did or not, so until then, he has to stay where he is."

"And you think that'll be enough of an answer?"

"Well, you know, it's Christmas," Booth shrugged, a little uncomfortable. "He'll have a lot of distractions." Brennan hummed and turned her gaze toward the snowflakes that had begun to swirl in the air.

" _Grandpa Max?"_ she asked, her brow raised quizzically.

"Sure," he grinned back. Brennan couldn't help but return his smile, knowing that her father would probably like the sound of it.

After a quick gathering of the squints in the upper lounge at the lab, they picked up Parker from Rebecca's. Brennan enjoyed the opportunity to spend a holiday with her family as well as her 'work family,' and as they headed toward the prison that evening, she began to truly feel excited at the prospect of having everyone in the same place at the same time. Though her father and brother had come back into her life some time ago, they had never managed to have their entire family together in the same room.

"Hey, I have an idea," Booth announced, sounding excited. Brennan and Parker both asked what it was, but he merely shook his head and pulled into the parking lot of a department store. Booth led them through the store until he stopped in front of a display of artificial, pre-lit Christmas trees.

"Booth, we can't. It's against the rules."

"It'll be fine; just trust me," he insisted. Brennan watched as her husband lifted one of the boxes into his arms and gestured for them to follow him to the checkout.

When they arrived at the prison, Booth told her to go check in and make her way to the conjugal trailer. He promised that he and Parker would join her shortly, and Brennan reluctantly agreed, her confusion written plainly on her face. A few minutes later, she stepped through the doorway into the tiny wood-paneled room of the trailer.

Everyone was already there, and Brennan was pleased to see that Russ's stepdaughters did indeed look very happy to be there. They were more concerned with Russ than anything else, and it was clear that she had been right about making these arrangements. Hayley and Emma didn't seem to mind the lack of decoration in the slightest. When they caught sight of her, they both rushed forward to hug her as well, and Brennan laughed at their enthusiasm as she hugged them back.

Max was wearing a smile so genuine that his former features shone prominently through his alterations. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it, and the rush of love she felt for the father she had lost rose up inside of her. It was staggering, and as she embraced him, she didn't feel at all uncomfortable. He offered her a small paper cup full of what she belatedly realized was moonshine, and she did her best to hold it down.

She greeted Russ and Amy warmly as well, waving off Amy's fervent thanks for her work to arrange everything. Brennan assured Russ that Booth and Parker would be joining them, and her phone began to ring almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"Booth?" she answered, reading the caller ID.

"Hey, Bones. Open the blinds and tell everyone to go to the window."

"Um… Okay," she replied, bewildered. Brennan did as she was told, and her face lit up at the sight that met her eyes. Booth had pulled the SUV into the snow-covered, grassy area outside of the trailer and connected the Christmas tree to the car battery. Parker stood proudly beside him with a happy smile on his face.

Everyone was excited to see the tree, particularly Hayley and Emma, and Brennan was so moved that her eyes began to fill. Max came to stand next to her, smiling at the tree as he patted her back affectionately. They all admired the tree for several minutes before Brennan urged Booth to come in out of the cold. He and Parker shoved the tree back into the SUV as quickly as possible and went inside. Brennan had her arms around her husband before he had even stepped completely into the room.

"I love you," she whispered against his ear. He swayed a little as he held her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"I love you too," he replied, smiling over her shoulder at their audience. Brennan released him and moved to hug Parker as well before helping him out of his coat. Parker was a little shy at first, but he remembered those he'd met previously. Booth had explained the situation to him in as few details as he could manage, and Parker was curious about Brennan's father. He spotted the unknown man beaming at him and smiled back hesitantly.

"This strapping young man must be Parker," Max greeted him congenially. Parker nodded and stepped toward him.

"Are you Grandpa Max?" he asked bluntly. Max laughed a little in pleasant surprise and extended his hand.

"I sure am. It's very nice to finally meet you." The old con shook hands with the young boy, and Max continued to smile as he watched Parker cross the room to join his cousins. He looked back at Booth and Brennan with misty eyes.

"Thank you for coming. And for the tree," he added, grinning at Booth. "This is the best Christmas I've had in sixteen years," Max admitted, his voice ringing with sincerity.

"Me too," Brennan agreed softly.

The children began begging to open their gifts, and the adults sat together to watch their happy expressions. Brennan was wedged on the sofa between her husband and her father, and she was pleased that it didn't feel nearly as awkward as she'd expected. Aside from the location, they were just another family enjoying a holiday together.

"If my dad offers you a drink, don't take it," Brennan advised Booth, leaning over to whisper into his ear. "It will most certainly kill a large number of your brain cells." Booth was confused but smiled at the serious expression on her face.

"Thanks," he whispered back.

After a half hour or so, Booth gestured for Max to step away with him for a few minutes. The two men stood in the farthest corner and spoke in quiet voices as they watched the children play with their new toys.

"Look, Max, I don't want you to say anything that I, as an FBI agent, can't ignore," Booth began, cutting his gaze toward his father-in-law. He waited until Max had nodded in understanding before he continued. "I know what you've done to keep Bones safe. And… to handle the people who've hurt her in the past." He let the comment hang in the air, watching Max's features carefully. His expression was guarded, but there was an unmistakable glint in his blue eyes, indicating that he knew precisely what Booth was talking about.

"I want to thank you for that," Booth continued, causing a flicker of surprise to cross Max's face. "For doing what I couldn't."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Max replied, smiling benignly while silently acknowledging Booth's gratitude.

"My mistake," Booth smirked.

When they returned to the group, Brennan gave them an odd look, but Booth soothed her curiosity with a kiss. She smiled at him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling thankful that she had listened to him about celebrating Christmas with her family.

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Booth was somewhat withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, mentally replaying his conversation with Max. Con man or no, Booth had had no difficulty reading Max's response to his words. He no longer had any doubt that Max had sought revenge on the foster parents who had cruelly abused his daughter. It wasn't precisely clear whether he'd killed one of them or _all four_ of them, and at this point, it didn't really matter. Max had done the job successfully enough to leave behind no evidence that would identify him, and there was no chance of prosecution.

Booth had slightly mixed feelings about the whole thing, but at the end of the day, he was glad that those men had been made to pay for their cruelty. Whenever his faith- and FBI-driven moral compass started to bother him, the images in Brennan's foster care file were more than enough to silence his conscience. The world was a better place without those men.

Now he was left with the decision of whether or not to tell his wife about the conversation he'd had with her father. His first instinct was to be completely honest with her, but as he'd watched her interact with her family that evening, another inclination arose. She had finally reached the point where she could sit comfortably in a room with the people who had abandoned her as a teenager. She had come to understand that she loved her father and that he loved her in return. She had forgiven Russ and seemed well on her way to forgiving Max as well. It was a resolution she'd been working toward for years, and it was now within her grasp. Could he really take that peace of mind away from her? Would it be enough for her in the long run, even if she never got the answers they'd set out to find?

Booth carried Parker up to bed when they returned home, while Brennan set about organizing their luggage and travel paperwork for their departure the following morning. When Booth returned to the main level, he stepped behind her and gathered her into his arms.

"Need any help?" he asked, his voice thick and low as his breath warmed the skin of her neck.

"No, everything's ready. Is Parker asleep?" Booth gave a muffled sound of confirmation, his lips tracing a line from her ear to her collarbone. Brennan wiggled a little at the tickling sensation and smiled up at him.

Their lips connected in a slow, heated kiss that quickly shifted their interactions from playful to passionate. Their arms were wound tightly around one another as Booth kissed the oxygen right out of her lungs. When she pulled back to take a breath, his mouth attacked the exposed skin of her neck, and he began to walk them toward the couch, flipping off the light switch on their way. The room was lit only by the colorful, gleaming lights of their Christmas tree, and the soft glow illuminated their skin a little more with every piece of clothing they removed.

Brennan straddled his thighs, lowering herself onto his length with agonizing slowness. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, the contact tormenting her nipples as they began to move. Booth's hands seemed to be everywhere at once. They were clutching her thighs, grasping her hips, twisting into her hair. She clung to his broad shoulders, occasionally letting her hands drift downward over his back. The sinuous movements of his muscles aroused her even further, and she felt every thrust with her core as well as her hands.

Their lips crashed against one another in another wit-scrambling kiss as they rocketed toward the summit together, shaking in each other's arms when the waves and tremors overtook them. They collapsed into the plush cushion of the couch, enjoying the luxurious, heavy sensation that settled in their limbs. As their breathing slowed, Booth tightened his arms around his wife.

"Merry Christmas, Bones."

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Brennan was exceptionally pleased with the beach house they'd rented. The photos they'd seen online truly didn't do justice to the beauty of the structure or its setting. At high tide, the ocean was just a few hundred feet from the front door, and the other sides of the small cottage were surrounded by lush vegetation.

Parker had been remarkably well-behaved for the duration of their flight to Key West, but by the time they had made it through security, rented a vehicle and set out for Sugarloaf Key, he was more than a little travel-worn. The sight of the ocean, however, seemed to erase is sour mood immediately. Neither Booth nor Brennan had ever seen him so excited. Brennan watched the boys play in the waves for a little while before turning her focus toward setting up their temporary household. They planned to drive into the small settlement nearby to purchase some groceries later that evening, and Booth was eager to try a nearby beach restaurant for dinner.

They spent the next few days enjoying the laid-back pace of a tropical vacation. The majority of Parker's interest was focused on swimming and collecting seashells, and as always, he was full of questions for Brennan. She shared what she knew of oceanography and marine biology as well as a brief history of the islands' first inhabitants. Every night, Parker crashed early, utterly exhausted, which left Booth and Brennan with plenty of time together. They spent the evenings cuddling on a double-wide lounge chair on the deck of the cottage, listening to the ocean and gazing at the stars.

Booth eventually got around to telling her about his nearly one-sided conversation with Max, and he was relieved to see that Brennan seemed neither upset nor surprised by his words. She had already been assuming Max's guilt, and she took news of its confirmation fairly well. Booth didn't push her to explain her reaction, or lack thereof, but he made a point to reiterate that if she wanted to keep looking for evidence or proof, he was willing to do so. She thanked him but didn't give him an answer one way or another.

On New Year's Eve, Parker made a valiant effort to stay up until midnight, but he was no match for the physical exhaustion of the day. They had gone sightseeing in Key West and had done a lot of walking. Once he was tucked in, Booth and Brennan settled into their accustomed places on the deck. Booth had found a small radio in one of the closets, and he fidgeted with the dial until he was able to pick up a reasonably clear signal.

Booth pulled Brennan to her feet when the disc jockey announced the next song. It was one they'd danced to before, and the theme fit his mood perfectly. He spun her gently around the wooden planks of the deck, singing along quietly with Bob Seger about fate that defies logic and a love that captures the soul. Neither felt the need to speak as they swayed together in the dark, and although they'd done a lot of stargazing on previous evenings, they couldn't seem to take their eyes off of one another. They were both slightly startled to hear the countdown to midnight begin, having lost all concept of time.

"Happy New Year, Booth," Brennan whispered when the countdown ended. He caught her lips in a long, slow kiss.

"Happy New Year," he grinned.

They continued to dance through a few more songs before collapsing back onto the cushioned sun lounger. Much like on their honeymoon, they made love under the stars with the sound of the ocean to accompany them.

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Their return flight was scheduled for the following evening, and Parker was determined to spend every possible moment on the beach that day. Brennan did the majority of the re-packing, but eventually Booth forced her to take a break.

"Why don't you stay out here with Parker for a while, and I'll go get us ready to leave," he suggested. She'd done the majority of the work to get them packed for vacation in the first place, and he was feeling a little guilty.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he assured her, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. "Yell if you need me."

Brennan watched as Parker skipped in and out of the waves, noticing that they were quite a bit stronger than they had been all week. The sunrise had been red that morning, signaling foul weather in the near future. Brennan frowned disapprovingly at the clouds, hoping that their flight wouldn't be delayed.

"Parker, be careful," she warned, watching him stumble in the wet sand. He turned to smile at her in assurance that he was okay, and in the short second that his attention was diverted, a wave knocked him off balance. "Parker!" Brennan shouted, rushing toward him.

He had nearly regained his footing when another wave washed over his head, and Brennan was fairly certain he hadn't had time to take a breath. A cold chill of panic washed over her, and although she reached him quickly, time seemed to stretch endlessly. She caught him up in her arms, ignoring the fact that she had just dived into the ocean fully clothed. Parker was coughing and sputtering noisily, clearly stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Brennan shouted for Booth as she carried his son up to the deck and began to fuss over him. He was breathing normally now, and he seemed to be fine, but his eyes were red and irritated from the saltwater. Booth came outside and was surprised to see the two of them. Parker didn't look all that different than he had before, but Brennan was completely soaked from the waist down.

"What happened?" he demanded, alarmed by the panic that was still etched in her features.

"A wave knocked him off balance," she answered, still breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline. "Twice, actually."

"Are you okay, buddy?" Booth asked Parker, inspecting his small body for injuries.

"I'm okay, Dad. Bones saved me." The little boy's voice was slightly scratchy from the seawater he'd swallowed, but the smile on his face was genuine.

"Are you sure?" Brennan asked, mentally calculating the odds of secondary drowning. Parker assured them that he was fine and decided that he had a favorable audience to ask for a snack. Booth chuckled and told him he could get something small from the kitchen, and Parker quickly disappeared into the house.

"Are _you_ okay?" Booth asked his wife. She still seemed shaken, and he couldn't blame her. As a parent, these sorts of things happened, but it never got any less scary.

"Yes," she replied tremulously. "I just… It happened so quickly, and I couldn't seem to move fast enough…" Her voice was thick with residual panic and emotion, and Booth folded her into his chest, rubbing soothing circles onto her back.

"You pulled him out," he said calmly. "He's okay."

"I'm so sorry," she sniffled.

"Hey, none of that. It happens. Kids get hurt, and no parent is completely able to prevent it."

"I've never been so afraid," Brennan admitted, her words slightly muffled by her husband's broad chest.

"I understand," he replied. And he really did. Of all of the frightening situations he'd been in over the course of his life, the ones that had involved his son were the absolute worst. "He's alright though, okay? He's just fine."

Brennan nodded and melted into him a little more, allowing his familiar scent to calm her. Booth led her back inside so that she could change into something dry, and he tossed her wet clothes into the dryer. Thankfully, they still had plenty of time before they would need to leave for the airport.

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Brennan continued to hover around Parker for the remainder of the afternoon, watching him for signs of respiratory distress. Booth smiled each time he caught her, forcibly reminded of his former tendency to listen to his newborn son breathing.

In spite of the approaching weather, their return flight departed on schedule, and Booth couldn't help but notice that Brennan was particularly quiet for most of the journey. He wasn't sure if she was still upset over what had happened or if something else was bothering her, but he could tell that her thoughts were definitely occupied by something that was troubling her.

It wasn't until later that evening that he finally got tired of waiting for her to open up. They had tucked Parker in for the night and were preparing for bed themselves, and Booth couldn't stand the distant expression on her face for another minute.

"Bones, what's wrong?" he asked. She looked at him in surprise, almost as though she hadn't realized he was in the room with her. "You've been out of it all evening. Something's obviously bothering you. Is it about this morning with Parker?"

"Kind of," she sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was… absent."

"It's alright. Do you need to talk about it?"

"It's…" she faltered, uncertain of how best to voice her thoughts. "I was really scared today," she said softly, averting her eyes from his inquisitive gaze. "I know that he didn't really get hurt, and that I was never in danger, but… I would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant risking my own life." Booth was momentarily stunned by her words, and she rushed to continue explaining her train of thought. "It's not that I didn't know that before. I've felt that way for a long time, but it was more abstract. It just… really hit me today."

"I get it, Bones. That's how every parent is supposed to feel about their kid. Once they enter your life, it's not about _you_ anymore, you know? Nothing is ever the same again." They extinguished the lights and curled up together in the middle of the bed.

"It actually made me think of Max," she admitted, her voice still quiet. "If I'm so motivated to protect Parker, then my father's determination to protect _me_ has to be at least that strong. Maybe stronger. And by that logic, how can I fault him for the things he's done?"

 _Wow_ , Booth thought, amazed at her turnaround.

"Does that mean you've forgiven him?" he asked cautiously.

"I think so… I think I have to. Holding onto my anger hasn't done me any favors, and now that I can actually _sympathize_ … What he did wasn't rational, but a parent's love for their child isn't rational either." They lay together in the silent darkness for several moments before she spoke again. "I think we can stop investigating too. We both know that he killed those men, and we know we'll never prove it. There isn't much sense in pursuing evidence that doesn't exist." Booth closed his eyes, only a little contrite about the relief her words gave him.

"I'm proud of you, baby. I know how hard you've been trying to work through everything and how much you've been hurting over it. And I certainly agree with you. If anyone had hurt Parker the way you were hurt in the system, their days would be limited. Rational or not."

Brennan remained silent, reminded yet again that her husband and her father were more alike than she often considered them to be. The difference, of course, was that Booth would never abandon his family. She knew that he would do everything in his power to avoid that kind of situation.

Brennan snuggled into his chest, feeling lighter with each passing moment. She embraced the clarity she'd found and felt relief that her efforts to forgive her father had finally come to a resolution. She still had some progress to make when it came to trusting Max, but the act of letting go of her anger was liberating.

"Thank you for being patient with me," she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you never really disapproved of his actions," she shrugged. "And I know that I've been stubborn about holding a grudge and letting him upset me."

"Bones, you've handled everything with more grace than anyone has a right to expect from you. You don't need to thank me for anything."

"Still," she said, smiling up at him before pressing her lips to his. "You always support me no matter what. I love you."

"I love you too, Bones."

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 **I'm eager to hear your thoughts on the Max stuff. This won't be the last time the foster parent stuff comes up, but this whole arc is more about Brennan's journey than Max's actions. As I'm sure you noticed, I took out the mistletoe kiss. As much as I love that scene, I just couldn't come up with a plausible reason to keep it. I had them kiss plenty of other times. Adding Booth and Parker to the trailer celebrations just made sense, and I just couldn't take out the Christmas tree scene. :)**

 **Parker getting taken out by a wave was actually inspired by a real life event. The same thing happened to my youngest daughter when she was five. I've never seen three adults move so quickly, and she still got knocked over twice. In the end, my mother was closest and ended up going in after her fully clothed. With her cell and car keys in her pockets, I might add. It happens so fast, but holy crap, it's terrifying.**

 **We'll be moving a little faster in the next chapter. Or a lot faster, I guess, since the S3 hiatus lasted till April. There were only 15 episodes, so this story will be shorter. I ended up with 21 chapters.**

 **Review cause you love me. ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks for the reviews and feedback! I love reading your thoughts and comments, so keep 'em coming!**

 **This chapter is a bit Sweets-heavy, but it's also more than half AU. We have a slight time jump, and the majority of the rest of the cases for this season won't be covered in great detail, with one or two exceptions. I actually decided to split the last chapter because it was over 9K words. So there will be 22 altogether. Can't believe it's almost over! *sniffle***

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Chapter 16

A few weeks after the start of the new year, Brennan found herself in their home office sorting through the documents in their safe. Enough time had lapsed since she had changed her insurance policies and advanced directives that her lawyer was requesting she review them. She didn't expect to have any changes to make, but she knew it was standard procedure.

As she pulled out the file folders, one in particular caught her attention, and she paused in the act of putting it aside. Booth had wanted to destroy her foster care file, but she hadn't allowed him to do so. She understood his perspective perfectly, especially since the information in that file wasn't something she ever wanted to see again. However, she felt that destroying it would be tantamount to pretending that those events hadn't happened. There were already too few people who believed in the truth of her story, and she simply couldn't bring herself to destroy the proof. It wasn't much in the way of vindication, but it was something tangible that she could hold onto.

Booth had paper-clipped a few things to the cover, the first of which being an amended list of her foster parents. The list was written in Booth's familiar handwriting, and she scanned the names with an odd feeling of detachment.

 _Anderson - No abuse - Both dead in car accident, 1998._

 _Carter - Neglect - Husband died of cancer; wife still alive in TX._

 _Hammel - Physical abuse, never prosecuted - Died Feb 2007 in house fire, COD presumed accidental._

 _Campbell - Physical abuse, never prosecuted - Died Feb 1996, COD presumed suicide by self-asphyxiation._

 _Roberts - Physical abuse, prosecuted - Died Aug 1996, COD presumed accidental due to falling down stairs while intoxicated._

 _Lewis - Emotional abuse - Both still alive in CA, no longer fostering._

 _Collins - No abuse - Both still alive in NY, two teenage children, no longer fostering._

 _Taylor - Physical abuse, never prosecuted - Died Mar 2007, COD apparent homicide, not enough evidence to pursue._

 _Edwards - Emotional abuse - Both still alive in WI, nothing suspicious, no longer fostering._

Brennan noticed that her husband hadn't written anything in regards to the details that made the four deaths suspicious, no doubt out of caution that the wrong eyes might someday read the list. She toyed with the idea of throwing it away, but after a few moments' consideration, she simply moved the list to the inside cover of the file. She had made her decision in regards to the deaths of her foster fathers, and she was content with it. Though she might never be able to place herself in Max's shoes, as Booth would say, she had a better understanding of the love that had driven him to take such drastic measures.

Her focus could now shift to Max's impending trial, which came with a host of concerns in and of itself. Booth had privately suggested that Max hire Caroline's ex-husband as his attorney, insisting that the man was very adept at humanizing the defendant, which is what her father would need. The fact that Booth would be forced to testify was something neither he nor his wife liked to think about, but she had promised that she would never hold it against him.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he'd said. "I tried to get Caroline to take me off the witness list, but the law doesn't offer leniency for family members of suspected criminals."

"It's not a conflict of interest? He's your father-in-law."

"It doesn't matter to the judge. I'll be under oath. That won't stop your dad's attorney from using our familial relationship to discredit me, but… This is probably the one time I won't mind being discredited." Brennan had frowned at his words.

"Well, _I_ have a problem with it… But I guess I see your point. Just tell the truth. To do anything else would go against your character, and I'd never want you to do that. I know you sympathize with Max's actions, but you can't let that be a factor here. No matter what happens to Max, I won't hold it against you. You _have_ to tell the truth."

"Of course I will, Bones," he'd assured her. "I just hate that it has to come to this."

She had agreed with him on that point, but there really wasn't anything they could do about the stickiness of this particular situation. As the arresting officer, Booth would be forced to testify against her father, and that testimony might very well lead to a conviction. Booth was somewhat worried that, in spite of his wife's assurances, she might still hold him responsible in some way if her father ended up on death row. Brennan, however, was of a different logic in that respect. If Max ended up with the death penalty, it would be due to his own actions. Regardless of his motives for killing Kirby, the simple fact was that he had broken the law, and he would be punished accordingly if found guilty.

Making peace with her father's potential death sentence was something she was struggling with. She had found it in her heart to forgive him for the things he'd done in the past, both to her and to others. She had let him back into her life, and now she was faced with the prospect of losing him forever. Brennan felt compelled to help in any way she could, but Max had changed his mind about having her testify on his behalf. She had gotten angry with him when he'd brought it up on one of her visits to the prison, and he now seemed determined that she would never set foot on the witness stand for his sake. Brennan hadn't given up on the argument, and she was more than a little confused by his change of heart.

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As January gave way to February and then to March, Booth and Brennan worked through their cases with their typical prodigious skill. Their partners' therapy sessions were still ongoing, though the irritation they'd both originally felt for Sweets had transitioned to a reserved tolerance. The young psychologist had offered his profiling skills on several more of their cases, and even Brennan had been forced to admit that his 'soft science' had worked in their favor more than once.

During the course of an investigation in mid-March, Booth had been forced to pursue an armed suspect on foot. He had forbidden Brennan to follow him, and although she had attempted to disobey him, he had moved too quickly for her to keep up. The long minutes she'd spent panicking about his safety had seemed like hours, and when Booth had finally returned to the SUV with the suspect in cuffs, Brennan's relief had nearly overwhelmed her to the point of tears. She'd managed to subdue her emotional response, utilizing her skills of compartmentalization until she was able to get a few minutes to herself. Before that could happen, unfortunately, they were due for a session with Sweets.

In the months since their first joint session, Sweets had been able to gain a modicum of trust from both partners. Although Booth still cracked jokes about his youth and Brennan continued to find his entire area of study to be a waste of time, they had at least come to respect his professional opinion most of the time. During their sessions, they had covered the basic gamut of issues that cropped up in typical partnerships, but it had also become even clearer to Sweets that their partnership was anything but typical.

When Booth and Brennan entered his office that evening, Sweets immediately picked up on a slight tension between them. They both looked exhausted, but Brennan also seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her husband. Sweets had become more adept at reading her expressions, and he knew instantly that something was troubling her.

"So I hear you guys closed another case today?" Sweets said, deciding to start with something simple. They both nodded but said nothing. "How did it go? Any major issues?"

"It went the way it always does, Sweets," Booth grunted, flexing his aching feet. Chasing down the suspect in the cold hadn't done him any favors. "We get a body, we figure out the clues, we catch the bad guy."

"So it was an easy arrest?" Sweets probed, already having heard otherwise from another agent.

"Well, not really, but you know… All in a day's work," he smirked. Brennan pursed her lips and remained silent.

"The suspect resisted arrest then, I take it?"

"Yeah, he gave me a good chase," he shrugged. "I got him in the end."

"I see. Dr. Brennan, were you there for the pursuit as well?"

"Not really," she replied stiffly, still avoiding Booth's gaze. He tilted his head in attempt to get a better look at his wife's expression, hearing the tension in her tone.

"Ah, Bones, don't be sour just because I wouldn't let you chase the guy. He had a gun."

"So did I," she retorted, finally turning to look at him.

"Yes, but it wasn't safe."

"That didn't stop _you_."

"Well, yeah, but it's my job."

"It's _my_ job too."

"It's not the same, Bones. You know that," he said softly. Brennan snapped her jaw shut and turned to face forward again, her unspoken emotions causing the air between them to crackle. Sweets had been witness to more than one of their 'bickering' sessions, but this exchange was different.

"So… Maybe we need to talk about safety in the field?" he offered, attempting to suppress his satisfaction that they had finally presented him with a real issue to help them through.

"Maybe we need to talk about double standards," Brennan quipped. Booth pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Bones, we've talked about this. The guy with the badge and the gun goes first; _you agreed_ to that."

"Yes, but I didn't agree to stay behind while you run off and risk your life. How am I supposed to be your partner if you leave me behind? How am I supposed to protect you?"

"How am _I_ supposed to protect _you_ if I'm sprinting after an armed suspect in the dark? How can I catch the guy if I'm more focused on making sure he doesn't turn around and shoot you?"

"Maybe you shouldn't be chasing armed suspects in the dark in the first place!"

"Okay," Sweets interrupted, partially to remind them that he was still in the room. As he expected, they both looked at him as though they were surprised to see him sitting across from them. "I'll address the double standard thing in a minute, but I'd like to first discuss the emotional part of this situation. Dr. Brennan, you're clearly upset, but it's more than that. You were frightened."

"Well, it's not like our jobs are all sunshine and rainbows, Sweets," Booth interjected, scowling.

"Agent Booth, I'd like to hear from Dr. Brennan right now. You'll get your turn." Sweets watched the agent's eyes shift back to his wife, and they waited for her to decide how to respond.

"Booth has a habit of rushing into dangerous situations," she said reluctantly.

"And that scares you?" Sweets prompted.

"Yes." Her admission was softly spoken, as if she were afraid that speaking up might release the tenuous hold she was keeping over her emotions. Booth wanted to reassure her, but the right words simply weren't coming to him at the moment. Sweets watched them both speculatively and recalled something from his first real discussion with Booth.

"When I first met Agent Booth, it was as a direct result to an incident in which he unintentionally injured himself in anger," Sweets said, speaking directly to Brennan. Her eyes flickered with the memory of discovering her husband robotically pummeling a punching bag in response to the horrible things he'd read about her childhood. "He told me that you were the one to stop him and see to his injuries. Were you frightened then as well?"

"Now wait just a goddamned minute," Booth interrupted angrily. "That's got nothing to do with our _partnership_ , and I told you that before. I made it very clear that our marriage is not up for discussion."

"Agent Booth-"

"No, he's right," Brennan cut him off quickly, seeing a chance to escape the room. "We don't discuss our marriage, and you know that. We can talk about the field safety thing another time." She rose quickly from her seat and left the room at a near run. Booth was caught off guard by her quick departure, but he threw a disparaging look in Sweets' direction before following her.

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They didn't speak as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage and drove home, but Booth knew the conversation wasn't over. Sweets' insinuation that his actions had frightened his wife didn't sit with him any better than it had the first time, and the thought of causing her fear appalled him. As they prepared for bed in silence, the tension between them mounted until Booth couldn't stand it any longer. He stepped behind her at the bathroom counter and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face at the base of her neck. She relaxed into him but didn't speak.

"Bones… Please talk to me," he pled quietly. Their eyes met in the mirror. "Did Sweets have it right? Are you... afraid of me?" She immediately frowned at his choice of words and turned in his arms.

"I'm not afraid _of_ you, Booth. But… I'm certainly afraid _for_ you, more often than I think you realize," she told him hesitantly. She watched his face drop in regret. "Come on," she murmured, pulling him toward their bed.

Once they were settled beneath the blankets, they turned to face one another. Booth gazed at her sadly, his eyes tracing her moonlit features. Brennan laid her hand gently upon his face and stroked his stubbled cheek.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he whispered. She shook her head to silence him.

"I understand why you do the things you do. I know how much you put into your job, Booth. You're a man of action, and I've known that since the first time we worked together. I knew what I was getting into when I fell in love with you. I just…" she faltered, choosing her words carefully. "I don't like when your anger gets the best of you. Like injuring yourself on a punching bag or going after a gang leader with a loaded gun…"

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll try to do better," he promised.

"I know how much you try already, Booth. Especially since Epps. I'm not upset with you for it; I just want you to be more careful. I don't know that I could survive losing you." Her voice broke, and a tear slipped from her eye to her pillow. Booth pulled her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her mouth.

"I don't ever want to do anything that might take me away from you, Bones. I can't stand the thought of not being with you. You're _everything_ , baby."

Their lips connected again, more fervently than before. They moved as if they might devour one another, pressing their bodies tightly together as though they were attempting to occupy the same physical space. Their clothing was discarded in seconds, and the touch of skin on skin caused a tingling sensation that reached to their very toes.

Booth rolled her beneath him, moving his hands over the familiar landscape of his wife's body. He took in every beautiful inch of her, cherishing her as though she were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen...because she _was_. He held her in his arms with the same reverence he'd felt when holding his newborn son. She was precious to him, and he was desperate to show her the power of his love for her.

Brennan gasped brokenly as their bodies joined, and her brilliant blue eyes locked with his darkened gaze. She couldn't look away as they started to move together, their bodies dancing in time with one another until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. The connection was so intense that she grew lightheaded, belatedly realizing that she'd been holding her breath.

He captured her mouth in another passionate kiss as they simultaneously came apart in each other's arms, and although Brennan knew it was impossible, she gained a new understanding of the notion that time could stand still. Booth felt as though their very souls had embraced one another, and his body continued to tremble long after he had slipped from her warmth.

They whispered words of love and promise in the darkness, cradling one another until they drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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Sweets tread very carefully during the next few sessions, choosing his words with more caution so as not to cross the boundary the partners had insisted upon. He knew, however, that they would have to reach some sort of compromise on that front. He could agree not to meddle, but their refusal to discuss their private lives at all wasn't conducive to the therapeutic process.

Booth and Brennan met with him early one morning in April after a very late night at a crime scene. Their victim had been found in a hot spring mud hole, and Brennan had insisted that the mud be sent to the lab with the body. It hadn't been a quick process by any means, and they were both running a little low on energy when they sat down in Sweets' office.

"Nice to see you again Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth," he greeted them politely. They nodded tolerantly, and Sweets took a hopeful breath before continuing. "I've been doing some evaluation in regards to the direction I think we need to be taking with your therapy, and I want to thank you for your continued cooperation in this process. That being said, I do feel that it's necessary to discuss some personal issues that may be affecting your professional lives-"

"Forget it," Booth interrupted.

"Agent Booth, even when I counsel partners who don't have a personal relationship, they're still expected to be willing to discuss their personal lives. I'm not asking you to betray any confidences that you have between one another, and I'm not going to psychoanalyze your marriage. I respect your boundaries, but I need for you both to meet me halfway." Sweets kept his tone firm but reasonable, and Booth expelled a sigh of irritation.

"He has a point, Booth," Brennan admitted ruefully. "It's unrealistic to expect special treatment simply because we have a romantic relationship."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," Sweets said sincerely. Booth merely shrugged in defeat, and Sweets took that as his cue to proceed. "Has your professional relationship been affected in any way by your romantic one? Or vice versa?" They both looked back at him with slightly perplexed expressions.

"Can you give an example?" Brennan asked, uncertain as to what he was really asking.

"Uh, let's say… Do you argue about work on personal time? Or about personal issues while you're working?"

"We don't argue," Brennan insisted.

"Right, sorry. Do you _bicker_?" he rephrased, stifling the urge to roll his eyes like the teenager they thought he was.

"Not really," Booth answered.

"The only thing we...discuss...that would fit your description would be his or my safety in the field," Brennan added. "Booth can be needlessly overprotective sometimes."

"Do I really need to remind you how many times you've been hurt since we got together?"

"It started even before we were together, Booth. You were overprotective of me from our first case as partners."

"The doctor said you shouldn't be alone with a concussion," he reminded her insistently. "You really thought I was gonna just leave you?" They continued to bicker back and forth, while Sweets watched with his chin in his hand. When at last they paused to breath, he took the opportunity to speak up.

"You guys argue all the time," he stated, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"We don't _argue_ ," they said in unison.

"Yeah, okay, my mistake," Sweets said in surrender. "I have a new idea. I want to see you in a social situation. A situation where work is a taboo subject."

"What? Are you gonna send us to a restaurant and watch us through a one-way mirror?" Booth smirked.

"As long as I don't have to eat pie," Brennan replied.

"You really should give it a chance," Booth replied, taking the bait predictably.

"I find it too sweet."

"Actually," Sweets cut in, "I was thinking more along the lines of an evening with my girlfriend and me."

"They need someone to buy them beer," Booth chuckled.

"Like a double date? Why?" Brennan asked. "You're assessing our partnership, not our marriage. Our marriage is none of your business."

"I know that," Sweets agreed patiently. "But I also know that it would be exceedingly difficult for two people such as yourselves to keep the two completely separate. Problems in one area will bleed through to the other in either direction."

"So you think we have problems?" Brennan frowned.

"Not necessarily, but it would be helpful to see your interactions in both settings." When both partners still looked skeptical, Sweets decided to dangle a carrot. "It could give me the reassurance I need to make a favorable report to Deputy Director Cullen…"

Booth and Brennan shared a loaded glance and reluctantly agreed to meet up with him and his girlfriend on the following Wednesday evening.

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The body in the hot springs turned out to be that of a motorcycle racer named Tripp Goddard. He had died roughly two weeks before the discovery of his body, and in addition to the typical injuries sustained by motorcyclists, his bones showed evidence of extreme blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. The first day of suspect interviews went fairly smoothly, apart from the victim's professional rival asking Brennan for a date. Booth glowered at him and refused on his wife's behalf.

Their first visit to the victim's automotive garage didn't turn up anything but a list of suspects. However, when they returned the following day, they found evidence of blood that someone had tried to clean up with toluene. It was a common enough chemical in a mechanic's shop, but it had the effect of preserving the blood evidence well enough that DNA could be obtained.

While they waited for the warrant to be issued, Booth and Brennan went to the test track in the hopes of narrowing down their suspect pool. They arrived just in time to see the victim's rival, Danny Fitz, take off around the track on Tripp Goddard's bike. Danny's father had been Tripp's team manager, and it appeared that Danny was now next in line to take Tripp's place on the track. Unfortunately, as Danny neared the completion of his first circuit, the bike malfunctioned, causing a horrific accident that claimed the man's life. His father and sister watched in shock as the motorcycle burst into flames, Danny along with it. A thorough investigation of the bike revealed that one of the rotors had been tampered with, causing the motorcycle to malfunction.

Once Booth and Brennan wrapped things up at the test track, they met up with Sweets and his girlfriend April. Much to Booth's dismay, they were joining the younger couple at their Wednesday evening pottery class. Generally speaking, Booth wasn't a particularly crafty person, but he did have some experience with this particular hobby. His army psychiatrists had prescribed a multitude of different therapies when he'd been struggling with his PTSD, and sculpting had been one of them. It wasn't exactly something he went around talking about, however, and he was pretty sure that not even his wife knew about it.

"Dr. Sweets says you work with tropical fish," Brennan said politely to April. The young woman's eyes lit up and her thick curly hair bounced a little as she nodded.

"Yes! I _love_ fish. They're just like people," she replied happily. Brennan frowned in confusion.

"No… No, they're not, actually. People can't breathe underwater."

"She's funny," April told Booth, clearly under the impression that Brennan was joking. Booth chuckled and glanced at his wife's baffled expression.

"I don't think she meant that literally, Bones."

"Oh."

"It's their eyes," April clarified. "You can tell so much from eyes. You can see their little souls."

"You believe that fish have souls?" Brennan asked incredulously.

"Yes. You can see it in their coloring; it's a reflection of who they are."

"Their coloring has developed over millennia as a way to deal with predators."

"April just means they're beautiful," Sweets interjected, clearly nervous that his girlfriend was on her way to a bruised ego at the hands of Brennan's scientific perspective. Unfortunately, his uninvited assistance only served to irritate April.

"Don't tell me what I mean, Lance. I mean they have souls." Her sweet, cheery demeanor was gone, and she was scowling down at the clay vase she was throwing.

"Ah… okay," Sweets mumbled uncomfortably. Booth winced in pity for Sweets and attempted to pull the conversation in a safer direction.

"Hey, look what I'm making," he said with exaggerated enthusiasm. His sculpture of a horse was turning out better than he'd expected, and he actually _was_ a little proud of it.

"You've done this before," Brennan declared in surprise.

"Nah…"

"You have," she insisted.

"You really think that's good?" he asked, sounding like a little boy seeking approval.

"Yes, very." She smiled at him and leaned over for a quick kiss.

Sweets attempted to compliment his girlfriend's vase, but she was still irritated from their previous argument. Booth and Brennan fell into an awkward silence as Sweets and April argued. When Booth eventually finished his sculpture, he held it up proudly and pretended to make it gallop through the air.

A stray piece of clay fell into his lap, and like the goof he was, he chucked it at his wife. It sailed straight into her cleavage, and she gasped in surprise. Within seconds they were taking turns pelting each other with half-dried clay, giggling like school children. Sweets smiled to see them being so playful, but when he made the mistake of trying to include April in a similar game, she tossed a handful of wet clay right in his face. Booth and Brennan excused themselves fairly quickly after that awkward moment. As he opened the door for Brennan, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Pretty sure _he_ won't be getting any tonight."

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Locating the murder weapon, a chrome pry bar from the victim's truck, turned out to be the key to solving their case. Forensic evidence proved that the killer had most likely been a woman, and when they interrogated the woman closest to both victims, Booth could read her guilt easily. Phillipa Fitz was the daughter of the team manager and the twin sister of Danny Fitz. She had tampered with Tripp Goddard's bike, but that hadn't killed him. She then resorted to a direct physical attack and dumped his body in the hot springs. Unfortunately, her actions had the unforeseen consequence of the death of her brother when he rode Tripp's bike.

Equally unfortunate was the fact that she most likely wouldn't be convicted of either crime. Her lawyer pointed out the multiple factors he could use to prove reasonable doubt, and Booth reluctantly admitted that the man was most likely correct. However, that didn't stop him from arresting her and charging her with both murders so that at least her family and friends would know what she'd done.

It had been quite a while since the last time Booth and Brennan felt disappointed rather than satisfied at the end of a case. Booth in particular felt drained, and though it was nearing the end of their workday, he made a stop in the breakroom for a cup of coffee after they left the interrogation room.

"You're voluntarily drinking Bureau coffee?" Brennan asked, only half kidding. The stuff was utterly disgusting.

"Yeah, well I don't see the government springing for any of that fancy stuff you guys get at the lab any time soon," he shrugged. She watched him wince a little at the first sip and noticed the somewhat uncharacteristic droop in his shoulders.

"I'm sorry the case turned out that way," she told him softly. He gave her a weak smile.

"It happens. You never know; maybe she'll get a jury that will be able to see the truth." Booth's eyes swept over her, seeing his own disappointment mirrored in her features. "Hey, let's go out tonight. We could go bowling or something."

"Bowling?"

"Yeah, we'll have fun. I was thinking we'd be doing something like that rather than the pottery thing anyway, and now I really want to go." His happy smile was back in place, and Brennan couldn't help but return it.

"I'm… not very good at bowling," she warned him.

"Well, maybe you just haven't had the right teacher," he grinned, sidling up to her suggestively. Before Brennan could respond, Sweets shuffled into the room. He seemed to be focused on his shoes and didn't look at them as he entered. His expression was somber and forlorn.

"Someone run over your dog?" Booth asked lightly. His voice lacked the tone of derision he usually adopted when teasing Sweets. The younger man looked up in surprise, almost as though he hadn't realized where is wandering feet had taken him.

"Oh, hi guys. I didn't see you there," Sweets mumbled. Booth and Brennan exchanged a knowing glance.

"April dump you?" Booth guessed. Neither he nor his wife were surprised, particularly since April had shown up at Brennan's office earlier that day to complain about Sweets. She had described their relationship in terms of tropical fish-related metaphors, but even Brennan had been able to comprehend that April felt she and Sweets were incompatible.

"I'm a trained psychologist," Sweets sighed. "I mean, I saw this coming. It's not like the signs eluded me. So I prepared myself mentally for it, and…"

"Hey, Sweets," Booth said, making a quick decision. "Bones and I, we're going bowling tonight. You should come with us." Brennan looked at him in surprise but quickly played along.

"Yes, bowling. You should come with us to the bowling rink," she said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Alley," Booth corrected.

"Bowling _alley_."

Sweets was even more stunned than Brennan by the unexpected invitation, but try as he might, he couldn't find a good reason to decline. He drove separately and met them at a bowling alley nearby, offering to cover the pizza they planned on having for dinner as a way of thanks for letting him tag along. His sour mood began to dissipate as he watched Booth and Brennan interact. Although he'd seen them enjoying themselves at the pottery class, his attention had been focused on his ongoing spat with April. He observed them now with a half smile playing about his lips, taking mental notes that he would jot down later.

Unfortunately for her competitive nature, Brennan turned out to be a terrible bowler. Booth made a show of instructing her, but his covert attempts at getting fresh with his wife didn't escape Sweets' notice. They seemed to bicker every bit as much as he'd seen them do during their sessions, but it was good-natured and flirtatious. In fact, Sweets thought it was a kind of verbal foreplay for them. With every snarky comment or teasing remark, the two became a little more physically affectionate, and by the end of the evening, Sweets felt rather like a kid who was embarrassed because his parents were making out in public.

Though they were very absorbed in one another, they did make great efforts to include him in their discussions. Booth reassured him that he was young and would eventually find the person he was meant to be with. Brennan commiserated with him over his ex-girlfriend's views on animals, agreeing with him that the idea of fish being sentient was ridiculous. The three of them interacted as a group of friends enjoying an evening out rather than a therapist and his clients.

By the end of the evening, Sweets felt remarkably more optimistic about his future love life as well as his clients' therapeutic process. It was clear to him that both their professional and personal relationships were built on solid foundations, and he really couldn't find a reason to keep them in therapy any longer. He hoped that the tentative friendship he'd formed with them would continue to grow, especially now that they had no reason to be concerned about their partnership. He also hoped that they would continue to come to him when they needed a profiler. For all the teasing and obstinance, Sweets had come to enjoy the time he'd spent with them professionally.

"Okay, so…" Sweets began, getting their attention as they walked out to their vehicles. They looked at him curiously. "I think we can end your partners' therapy at this point. If something new comes up, I'm always available to help, but I don't think regular sessions are necessary."

"Really?" Brennan asked, pleasantly surprised at the news. Booth looked positively elated.

"Thanks, Sweets," he grinned, pounding him on the shoulder with an open palm. Brennan stifled a chuckle when Sweets staggered a bit.

"Don't mention it," Sweets nodded. They began to walk again, but he felt the urge to add something. "Dr. Brennan, could I have a moment?" They both turned to look at him again, and their smiles slipped a little. "It'll only take a second," Sweets said, smiling reassuringly.

"Um, sure. I'll be right there, Booth." Her husband gave a half shrug and continued toward the SUV.

"Dr. Brennan, like I said, I'm always available if the two of you ever need my help in your partnership, but I wanted to add that… I know your father's trial is coming up soon, and I'm sure that it's a lot to deal with emotionally. If you ever need to talk or get anything off your chest, I'm happy to help. Even if it's just as a friend."

"Oh," she frowned, looking awkwardly at the pavement. "Um, thank you. I doubt it will be necessary, but it's nice of you to offer."

"You're welcome," Sweets nodded. "Thanks for letting me tag along. It was nice to be around friends after…" He trailed off, not wanting to articulate the fact that he'd been dumped. Brennan was slightly taken aback at the label he'd given them, but she didn't argue. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

"What was that all about?" Booth asked her as she climbed into the SUV.

"He thinks I might need help dealing with things regarding Max's trial," Brennan replied stiffly.

"He wants to shrink you on personal matters?" Booth wasn't entirely sure it was a bad idea, but he decided to proceed with caution.

"Not necessarily. He said it could just be as a friend too."

"A _friend?_ "

"Yeah, he also said that it was nice to be around friends this evening after being dumped. Is that what we are? I didn't really know how to respond…"

"Well, I probably wouldn't have put it that way, but maybe he's trying to tell us something."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe he _wants_ to be our friend. He hasn't lived here that long; maybe he doesn't have many." As Booth drove them home, he considered it further, and he became increasingly more certain that he was correct in his assessment.

"So… he's lonely?" Brennan asked, regaining his attention.

"Maybe."

"Hmm. Maybe we should invite him out for dinner or lunch… or even have him over for dinner at home."

Booth grimaced inwardly at the thought of spending any more time with the kid than necessary, but he couldn't help but smile at his wife's suggestion. If she wanted to them to be Sweets' friends, then Booth would do his best to oblige. After all, he'd managed to enjoy himself in spite of Sweets' presence on both evenings they'd spent with him.

 _Maybe he won't be quite as annoying if he's not our shrink…_

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 **How are we feeling about Sweets this time around? S3 Sweets was easy to laugh at, but hard to like. Hopefully I improved him at least a little bit. I'll be posting a chapter every other day until the end!**

 **Review and have a fantastic weekend!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello again. :) Thanks, as always, for the great feedback. I try to reply to as many as I can, but if I missed yours, please know how much I appreciate you taking the time to review. I also want to give a super big thank you to my beta, chosenname. She has tirelessly proofed every chapter of this story and the one before, and I really can't thank her enough. Proofing my own stuff puts me to sleep, and having her help means that I can get the chapters out faster.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Chapter 17

By the end of the following week, Booth was really beginning to think that his wife might be wise to take Sweets up on his offer to help her. Brennan seemed a little more moody and exhausted with each passing day, and Booth suspected that her stress was getting the better of her again. She'd had several discussions with Max's defense attorney, in spite of her father's insistence that she stay out of it.

Brennan was feeling conflicted about whether or not she should testify. On the one hand, it seemed like a way to show support for her father, and since she had come to terms with his past actions, she truly did want to help him. On the other hand, even the attorney could tell that she didn't believe in her father's innocence, and he strongly advised against her taking the stand for any reason. Brennan felt both frustrated and relieved by his advice, but the relief only served to make her feel guilty on top of everything else. She hated the thought that her father might be executed when she could potentially do something to save him.

Loathe though she was to admit it, Brennan knew that her emotional upheaval was affecting her physically again. Aside from the persistent fatigue, her moods were erratic, and even her co-workers took notice. As they performed a preliminary analysis on a victim whose body had been crushed by gymnasium bleachers, Brennan had a hard expression and a cool tone for both Zack and Hodgins. She didn't feel up to ignoring their teasing and joking around, and both scientists shrank a little beneath her stern gaze.

"What's going on with you?" Angela asked, having followed her off the platform and into Brennan's office.

"What do you mean?"

"You're all...pissy and moody," she shrugged. "Is everything okay? Is Booth alright?"

"Of course he is." Brennan frowned at her computer screen, not quite sure if she wanted to discuss her father's case at work. Unfortunately, Angela wasn't in a mood to just let it go.

"Well _some_ thing's wrong. I don't even remember the last time you gave the boys your evil eye like that." Angela plopped down in a chair on the other side of Brennan's desk and looked at her expectantly. "So?"

"I'm just a little stressed, Angela. I don't mean to take it out on anyone. Do you think I should apologize?"

"Nah, they can take it. Besides, Cam is about to discover them doing an experiment with a skull, a raw turkey, and ambrosia salad." She grinned wickedly, and Brennan made an effort to smile back. "What's got you so worked up?"

"My dad's defense lawyer doesn't want me to testify," Brennan replied, avoiding her friend's eyes.

"Well…isn't that kind of a _good_ thing? I mean, you think he's guilty, and you'd have to tell the truth on the stand. You testifying would probably lead to a guilty verdict."

"I know that, I just... I feel guilty and powerless. I'm just supposed to sit in the courtroom and watch my father be sentenced to die without even _trying_ to help him? It feels wrong." Brennan sighed and rested her forehead in her palms. Her head was beginning to ache, exacerbating her fatigue. She hated feeling so weak.

"Sweetie, I'm sure it's natural to feel that way. Unfortunately, you have to trust that his lawyer knows what he's doing. It's Caroline's ex, right?" Brennan nodded, still shielding her face. If Angela didn't know better, she'd think her friend was actually crying. "He was good the last time we saw him in a courtroom."

"Ange, he _lost_ that case."

"Yeah, but only because we kicked ass in the evidence department. There was a lot more evidence in that case than there is in your dad's. Don't give up hope, okay?"

" _Hope_ is not really one of my strong suits," Brennan muttered, finally looking at her friend again. "I just made peace with him, and now…"

"Now you might lose him," Angela said softly, her expression full of compassion. "Look, Sweetie…this trial is going to happen no matter what. There's nothing anyone can do to stop it at this point, and it's out of your hands. The only thing you can do is let it play out."

"I know," Brennan said dejectedly.

"In the meantime, you should try to get some extra sleep. You look exhausted."

"Thanks," she retorted, rolling her eyes as she rose from her chair. "I need to get back to work."

"Alright," Angela nodded, standing up to follow her. "Oh, I almost forgot. Make sure you and Booth steer clear of the storage rooms from now on. Especially the Egyptian one." Brennan quirked a brow at the odd tangent Angela had taken. "Apparently they...um, added security cameras."

"How do you know?"

"Cam told me. Well, actually she _showed_ me." The sight of Angela blushing was something Brennan was pretty sure she'd never seen before, and she couldn't help but grin at her friend's embarrassment.

"You and Hodgins got caught on film?"

"You don't have to look so happy about it," Angela replied, failing in her attempt at a stern demeanor.

"Well, you wanted to cheer me up," Brennan smirked. "You certainly succeeded."

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Over the next few days, Booth and Brennan worked to solve the murder of RJ Manning, a college basketball player who had been well on his way to playing in the professional leagues. The case threw the partners into the world of college basketball, and Booth couldn't help but feel a bit of nostalgia for his days as an athlete. He took an immediate liking to the police officer who had helped them at the crime scene, quickly recognizing him as a former athlete with an amazing record of his own.

Their investigation revealed not only the use of steroids by several team members, but also a predictable level of promiscuity amongst them. Manning had a steady girlfriend on the cheerleading squad, but that hadn't prevented him from becoming sexually involved with several other students as well. Unfortunately, one of them happened to be the daughter of the police officer Booth had befriended, Jack Cutler. Cutler had caught his daughter under the bleachers with Manning, and although the sight had upset him, it wasn't until his daughter ended up with an STI that the man's anger got the better of him.

When Booth and Brennan caught up with Officer Cutler, he was sitting alone on the same bleachers that had crushed Manning's remains. He was also holding a pistol. Booth immediately instructed Brennan to leave, and although it irritated her, she knew that this wasn't the moment to argue with him. Instead, she left and reentered from a doorway just behind Cutler. Booth had been trying to talk the man down, but Cutler had the revolver to his temple, poised to pull the trigger.

Thinking quickly, Brennan moved forward to reach for the gun, and she inadvertently caught her hand between the hammer and firing pin. The metal pierced through the flesh between her thumb and forefinger, causing her to gasp and wince in pain. Booth didn't relax until Cutler was in cuffs, and he watched with dismay as the officer was taken into custody.

Brennan refused to go to the ER, but she did allow Booth to fuss over cleaning and bandaging her hand. She knew that taking care of her would make him feel better. As they sat opposite one another at the diner later that evening, she could tell that he was still preoccupied. Although she would have loved to admonish him for shooing her out of the dangerous situation, it had turned out for the best.

"You're very quiet," she remarked, surreptitiously stealing a fry from his plate.

"I'm fine. How's your hand? Does it hurt?"

"A little," she shrugged. "It was worth it."

"Yeah." Booth frowned at her hand, still somewhat lost in thought. "I was like that, you know. Back then."

"Like what?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Taking advantage of girls who were only interested in me for my looks or my athleticism. Cutler lost it because Manning treated his daughter the same way he himself had treated dozens of girls when he was younger."

"What does that have to do with you? You're not like that."

"Bones… I'm one of those guys," he contradicted her, meeting her gaze with sad eyes.

" _No, you aren't,"_ she said emphatically. Brennan hated the look of defeat that outlined his features. It was the same one he'd worn when they'd had a similar conversation after the time capsule case. The team had teased him about being one of 'those guys,' but Brennan knew better. "I'm not saying that you weren't involved with anyone for the wrong reasons, but you weren't disrespectful and callous."

"How do you know?"

"Because," she said simply, "You remember a name to go with every story you've ever told me about your past. Someone like RJ Manning or Jack Cutler wouldn't remember their names, especially after so much time had passed. You're not like them. You never have been, and you never will be."

"Still…"

"No, Booth. You're a _good man._ I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. To _believe_ it. I married a good man, and you'll never convince me otherwise." Booth's expression softened as he saw the absolute honesty reflected in her eyes, and they exchanged a loving smile before sharing an equally tender kiss.

"Thanks, Bones. You have more faith in me than I deserve, but I'll never stop trying to earn it."

"There's nothing you need to do that you haven't done already, Booth. I've trusted you from the very beginning, even before I knew what an exceptional person you are."

"Likewise," he grinned. They finished their milkshakes and left cash on the table before rising from their seats. Brennan glanced at him and chuckled, reaching up to wipe his milk mustache from his upper lip. Her eyes challenged his as she sucked the sweet substance off of her finger, and she was rewarded by a tell-tale darkening of his eyes.

"Home?" she asked innocently. He nodded, never breaking eye contact.

" _Quickly,"_ he replied. "I might even use the siren."

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Brennan wasn't sleeping. On the rare occasions that she was able to doze off, her stress over Max's trial had seeped into her dreams, and she always woke feeling even more exhausted. She did her best not to wake Booth, but she knew that he suspected something was amiss. He tried to minimize her stress as much as possible during the day, but she saw no reason to make him suffer from a lack of sleep as well.

To avoid the nightmares and the endless hours of lying awake in the dark, Brennan decided to return to her old standard remedies for insomnia: work and writing. Since they were between FBI cases, she threw herself into side projects from Bone Storage and helped Zack with the evidence from the Gormogon case. He seemed to be the only person who spent even more time at the lab than she did, and it was nice to have a companion on the late nights.

In addition to extended lab hours, Brennan had also decided to flesh out some ideas for a new book. She was still uncertain about the advisability of publishing anything new, but she was desperate for a distraction from her father's upcoming trial. She had been touched by the letters Booth had given her on her birthday, and she knew that many of her fans were eager for another Kathy Reichs novel. That point had been proven by a recent email from her publisher, offering a seven-figure advance for her next book. Brennan certainly wouldn't have contemplated it simply for the money, but it would give her a plausible explanation for Booth when he inevitably asked why she'd decided to start writing again.

As her mind wandered, the lines of text on her laptop screen had blurred, but she was pulled back to awareness by the sound of her husband coming down the stairs. It was almost as though his presence in her thoughts had summoned him, and she watched as he came around the corner into the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Bones, It's two in the morning. What are you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," he said as he dropped onto the sofa next to her. "Just don't like waking up to an empty bed. What are you doing?" She turned the screen toward him slightly so that he could read, and his brows lifted in surprise.

"You're writing again? When did you decide to do that?" In spite of his sleepiness, he was beaming at her.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, especially after you gave me those letters. Plus, my publisher got in touch with me a few days ago. They're offering a seven-figure advance for another book."

" _Seven figures?"_ Booth sputtered, fully awake now. "Holy shit. Exactly how much are you talking? Not that we need it, but… _Damn._ "

"A little over a million. In fact the accountant wants us to open an offshore account for tax purposes, but that feels… strange. Dishonest, maybe. I have no problem paying taxes appropriately."

"Wow," Booth sighed, dazed. Wealth was never something to which either of them had aspired, but it was nice to have one less thing to worry about. They had enough stress to manage from other sources. Booth eyed her carefully composed expression, reading it as easily as he might read the morning paper. Money was not her true motivation. "So you're really going to do it? Publish another book?"

"I haven't completely decided yet," she gave a half shrug. "I do have some ideas though, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to write them down."

"And since you've been having trouble sleeping, there's no time like the present," Booth concluded, smiling sadly when she met his gaze with a bit of guilt in her eyes.

"I _have_ been keeping you up."

"I don't sleep as well without you next to me," he explained. "But that's not the point. Why haven't you said anything? I know you're worried about the trial, but you won't talk about it. I want to help."

"You do help, Booth. I wasn't really trying to keep anything from you, I just… It seemed wrong to make you worry over something we can't change. Plus, you have to testify, and I know you're feeling guilty about that. I didn't want to make it any worse."

"Bones, if something's upsetting you, I want to know about it. No matter what it is. I know we can't fix the situation, but I want to be there for you, even if all I can do is listen." Their eyes held for a long moment as she sighed and leaned her head backward against the couch. "How many nights has it been now?"

"I don't know. What day is it?"

" _Bones,"_ he admonished gently.

"Sorry," she murmured. He shook his head and smiled at her.

"Don't be. I love you."

"I love you too." They smiled and shared a sweet kiss. Booth closed the screen of her laptop and moved it to the coffee table. Brennan sighed, knowing that he would insist on going back to bed, where she would no doubt lie awake until the sun rose.

"You know, as long as we're both awake," he said, nuzzling the side of her neck. "I have a pretty good idea about something _else_ that might distract you… Maybe even make you tired enough to sleep." Brennan's lips curved upward predictably.

"I really should...finish what I was doing…" Her speech was disjointed, owing to the fact that her husband's lips had just found the sensitive skin below her ear. It was like a direct link to her core. Booth would have called it her Kryptonite.

"I don't think you really _want_ to," Booth whispered, grinning smugly against her skin.

Brennan sighed, losing the will to argue as their lips connected. Her arms went around his neck, and she was only vaguely aware of being picked up and carried upstairs. She wondered absently how he had managed to turn the lights off, but his tongue was dancing with hers, erasing all other conscious thought.

Booth placed her gently on her feet next to their bed and made quick work of her clothing. In less than a minute, their sleepwear was in a pile on the floor, and Brennan moaned as she melted into him. He leaned back just enough to rake his eyes over her naked form, taking a ragged breath to steady himself. It would have been so easy to take her hard and fast, effectively exhausting her until her body forced her mind to sleep, but Booth was determined to take his time. He wanted to drive away every worrisome thought until she could focus on nothing but their connection to one another.

Brennan wasn't as interested in taking things slowly, however, and she surprised him by stepping aside to guide him onto the bed. They were nothing but soft lips and wandering hands as she urged him toward the middle of the mattress. She shuddered reflexively when his fingertips traced her entrance, teasing her clit lightly.

"I want to taste you," he groaned, when at last they broke apart to take a breath. She smirked at him, her eyes full of challenge.

"Me first."

His breath came out in a rush as she scaled down his body to take him into her mouth. Her tongue circled the head, teasing along the ridge until he was panting with need. Booth watched himself disappear between her lips as she moved up and down, swallowing around him when he reached the back of her throat.

"Turn around," he begged. Her features showed only a brief flash of confusion before she understood what he wanted.

He helped her to spin her hips toward him, settling her knees on either side his shoulders. Booth adjusted their positions slightly until he could practically feel the heat of her arousal on his face. He felt her lips around him again, and he groaned as he swept his tongue along the length of her folds, starting at her clit and ending with his tongue buried deep inside of her. Brennan moaned, sending pleasant vibrations that seemed to reach every nerve in his body, and he couldn't help but return the favor.

Brennan felt as though her whole body was vibrating, and it slowly became more difficult to focus on her own task. Though she had slipped her forearms beneath him to clutch the backs of his thighs, she shifted so that she could stroke him as she continued to work him over with her mouth. The new angle made it a little more difficult to take him as deeply as before, but Booth didn't seem to mind.

He took her change in tactic as a sign that she was ready for a little more stimulation as well, and when he plunged two fingers into her, she rewarded him with a particularly strong pull of her lips. Her thighs began to tremble against him, and he knew that she was nearing her release. Booth was struggling to hold his own orgasm back by that point. Reaching deep inside of her, his fingertips brushed her g-spot just as he bit down on her clit. It was all too much for her, and she shattered against him, her cries of pleasure muffled by the hard flesh she kept in her mouth. As her tremors slowed, Brennan regained enough of her focus to continue her own efforts, and Booth had nearly reached his limit as well.

"Ride me, baby. I need to be inside you," Booth pled. He needed that connection, and he knew she did as well. Brennan obliged him without hesitation, rising to her hands and knees and turning back to face him.

She sank onto him gradually, for which he was thankful. He was barely holding onto his determination to take things slowly, and it was all he could do not to thrust roughly into her. Their eyes met as she ground her hips against his, and she could see the tentative hold he was keeping on his release. Brennan leaned backward to rest her palms on his thighs, enabling him to reach new places within her each time they came fully together.

Brennan whimpered at the intensity of each sensation, allowing her head to fall backward so that the ends of her hair brushed his thighs. Booth moved one hand from her hips to her clit, pressing gentle circles into the sensitive flesh. When at last she detonated around him, Booth came with her, flooding her with warmth and leaving her weak and exhausted.

He eased her down onto his chest, and she collapsed against him willingly, their hearts thundering in time with one another. A thin sheen of sweat covered them both, but neither seemed to mind. They came down together slowly, each still pulsating slightly where they were joined.

"Okay," Brennan sighed. "Now I can sleep."

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Booth woke just before their alarm was set to go off and looked down to find his wife sleeping peacefully against his chest. They had stayed awake just long enough to clean up after themselves before a deep, sated sleep had claimed them both. He tentatively brushed her hair away from her face, and he was pleased when she didn't stir. Though he knew she would give him hell for it later, he reached over to switch off the alarm clock. Booth sent a quick text to each of their bosses that they would both be coming in a little late that day. Cullen responded with a simple 'okay,' but Cam took the time to express her approval that Brennan was taking the morning off. It seemed that no one had been able to escape Brennan's ever-shifting moods lately.

He stayed awake for a short time, content to watch her sleep and listen to the steady sounds of her breathing. As had become a habit recently, his mind drifted to the testimony he would have to give at her father's trial. Brennan had been correct when she'd spoken of his feelings of guilt the night before, and although he had learned to manage his guilt much better over the past year or so, he was struggling with this particular situation.

He tried to look at things from her perspective, wondering if he could ever truly be as compartmentalized and unbiased as she was. Although his relationship with his father had been much different than the one between Brennan and Max, it was no less fraught with pain and tension. He wasn't sure how he would feel if his wife were forced to testify against his father for some reason. While Booth tended to think the worst of his father, even so many years later, he wasn't sure how he would feel if the situation were reversed. At this point, Booth only _assumed_ that his father was dead. No one really knew for sure, much the same way that no one had really ever known either way about Brennan's parents, at least until her mother's remains were identified.

Booth had witnessed the change in his wife firsthand. It was one thing to presume that a parent was dead; it was entirely another to know it for sure. Worse still was the fact that, through his testimony, Booth might end up being partially responsible for Max's death. Although he knew that Brennan didn't see it that way, he would've given his left arm not to have to testify against Max. He only hoped that the defense attorney was as good as they thought he was…

"Booth! We overslept!" She was shaking him insistently, glaring at the digital readout on their alarm clock. Booth realized he must've dozed off and grumbled sleepily.

"It's okay, Bones. I let Cam and Cullen know that we'd be in a little late today. They were fine with it."

"Why?" Now she was glaring at _him_.

"You needed the rest. You were sleeping soundly for once, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. It's fine, really. Cam even agreed that it was a good idea to take the morning off." He could see that she wasn't likely to agree with him, especially when she sighed in frustration and began to move quickly about the room. "You can be mad at me all you want, but you know I'm right. You were exhausted, and you know how that could affect your work," he said with false innocence. She stuck her head out of the closet to frown at him in disgust.

"I know what you're doing."

"Trying to take care of my wife?"

"Making it sound like I would've made mistakes in my work if I'd gotten up on time. That's ridiculous," she said stubbornly. Booth waited until she had turned away to roll his eyes.

"You know you're going to stay late anyway," he reminded her, not bothering to mask the disapproval in his tone. "It's not like you won't put in a full day even with the late start."

"That's beside the point," she replied testily, moving from the closet to the bathroom so that she could start the shower. Booth got out of bed and came to stand behind her as she adjusted the water temperature. His arms slipped around her waist, pulling her against him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. Brennan sighed again and turned to meet his gaze reluctantly. She was almost surprised that he actually did appear repentant, and she felt her irritation diminish.

"It's okay." She kissed him lightly. "Thanks for taking care of me." He gave her a slow smile, and his eyes flickered toward the running water.

"Does that mean I can join you?" he asked hopefully. Brennan failed to stifle a chuckle at his request.

"Well… it _would_ save time."

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As Booth had predicted, Brennan did end up staying at the lab later than usual. He had driven her to work that morning in the hopes of being able to curtail her late night, but she was insistent on finishing up with an analysis before agreeing to head home. He'd brought Indian takeout for dinner, but she ate sparingly, eating perhaps half her usual amount before returning to the Bone Room. As luck would have it, they were called to a crime scene just as Brennan was finishing up, and Booth cursed under his breath at the poor timing. His wife didn't seem to share his irritation, however, shrugging out of her labcoat with almost enthusiastic speed.

The crime scene consisted of a charred set of remains in the driver's seat of a convertible. The car rested at an angle in a roadside ditch, slightly sheltered by the encroaching forest. Brennan tugged a pair of latex gloves over her hands as she approached, weaving through the emergency personnel and their vehicles.

"The victim was doused with gasoline and then set on fire," Brennan announced, noting the lack of charring on the majority of the vehicle and mentally calculating how long the fire might have burned. A local sheriff was trading information with Booth regarding tire marks and the person who had reported seeing the fire. "Female… Probably in her early twenties. Preauricular sulcus on the iliac. She's given birth."

"Ran off the side of the road, set on fire… Somebody wanted her dead," Booth surmised. Brennan went on to list fractures to the right tibia and fibula, skull, and manubrium while he poked around the car a little more. At almost the precise moment that he noticed a diaper bag in the trunk, he heard an odd noise. Odd and unexpected. He shushed Brennan. "You hear that?"

He shouted for the emergency workers to stop moving for a moment, and in the silence, the source of the noise became clearer.

"Holy crap," the sheriff sputtered, following the beam of Booth's flashlight to an overhanging branch. An infant car seat was perched precariously in the tree limbs, and the baby inside of it was squawking indignantly. Booth shouted for a ladder, and waited nervously as a fireman removed the seat and the baby from the tree. A paramedic rushed forward to examine the child, and Booth shared an incredulous glance with his wife.

"There's not a scratch on the boy," the sheriff announced a few minutes later.

"Wow, what are the odds?" Booth wondered aloud.

"Do you really want to know?" Brennan asked.

"Maybe later," he said placatingly. The EMT handed the baby to Booth, and Brennan smiled as she watched the little boy grin at her husband. She'd never seen him with a baby, but he looked completely at ease. The boy began to fuss a little, and Booth turned toward her. "He's a little fussy. Want to give him a cuddle?"

"Just because I have breasts doesn't mean I have magical powers over infants," she replied, feeling more than a little out of her depth.

"Maybe he's just not old enough yet," Booth smirked. "He probably just needs a diaper change." He lifted the baby up and sniffed experimentally, wincing in disgust when his suspicion was confirmed. "Grab that diaper bag, Bones."

Brennan picked up the bag and followed Booth to the back of a fire and rescue truck. He passed the baby to her so that he could remove his jacket, and she held him gingerly, her arms stretched outward from her body. Booth laid his jacket over the back step of the truck and gently placed the baby on top of it. Brennan dug through the diaper bag for each of the items he requested, but there didn't seem to be any baby powder.

"No powder?" Booth frowned. He closed up the diaper temporarily and wrapped up the wipes in the dirty one, while Brennan continued to look through the bag.

"Hey, wait a minute. Look." She pulled a small key from the bag and held it up. "There's a rip in the lining of the bag, like someone was trying to hide it."

"Okay, I'll get an evidence bag and ask the EMT if they have any baby powder. Just watch him." He was gone before Brennan could stop him, and she panicked a little as the baby began to fuss again. _Is baby powder really that important?_

"No, no! No need to fuss!" she insisted, speaking to the baby in a high-pitched voice she didn't recognize. Unfortunately, it only seemed to add to the baby's frustration. "Obviously something is upsetting you. Children have toys," she recalled, setting the key down as she reached for the diaper bag. She unearthed a stuffed purple elephant and frowned at it. "You know, elephants are not purple. This is wrong." The baby flipped onto his stomach and finally stopped crying.

"Doing okay?" Booth asked as he reappeared holding a small evidence bag. Apparently the EMTs didn't have baby powder. Brennan shrugged.

"He seems to prefer lying on his stomach."

"That's pretty normal for this age. Where's the key?"

"I set it down…" She trailed off as her eyes moved to his jacket. "Oh no."

"What?"

"I think he swallowed it."

" _Swallowed_ it? 'Oh no' is right." Booth looked at the baby again and watched him for a few moments. He didn't seem to be having any trouble breathing, but Booth decided it wouldn't hurt to have one of the medics check him over again. "I think he's alright, but…"

"But?"

"Well, that key was evidence. You know how chain of custody works. This kid stays with us until we get the key back. In the meantime, let's make sure it's in his stomach and not his airway." Brennan paled in alarm.

"I'm so sorry, I…" She inwardly cursed her inexperience.

"Hey, it's okay. It happens; babies will put anything and everything into their mouths. Toddlers too," he assured her. But the fretful expression on her face didn't change as they tracked down a medic with a stethoscope. "Parker swallowed a penny once when I had him overnight. He was about two. They did x-rays to make sure it went where it was supposed to, and then we just had to wait it out. He was fine, and I'm sure this little guy will be too. Don't beat yourself up about it, okay? It happens to everyone at one point or another."

Brennan felt slightly better with his reassurance as well as the EMT's confirmation that the baby showed no signs of respiratory distress. She suggested that they take him to the lab for an x-ray rather than wait hours at an emergency room. Most of the squints seemed to fall in love with the baby instantly, though Zack seemed a little uncomfortable around him. Brennan smiled along with them as she watched the little boy gurgling and grinning up at Hodgins.

She had to admit that the boy really was adorable. His thin, blonde hair was soft and sweet-smelling, and once they'd gotten him out of the night air, his mood had improved considerably. He babbled and smiled at everyone, enjoying the attention. Brennan still felt guilty that he needed to be there in the first place, but the x-ray was done quickly enough, confirming that he had indeed swallowed the small key.

"Social Services says we can take him home," Booth announced as he stepped onto the platform. Brennan picked up the baby, unconsciously bouncing a little to keep him happy.

"Home? They're really okay with that?"

"Yeah, well, registering as a foster parent turned out to be a really good idea. Everything's all set up for temporary care. Once he passes the key, they'll get him a more permanent placement," he explained. Brennan nodded and handed him the baby so that she could grab her things from her office.

"Zack, get started on the remains, please. I'll be back in tomorrow morning." Booth followed her to her office and strapped the baby into the infant carrier.

"We'll need to get him a different car seat," Booth muttered.

"Why?"

"This one's been in an accident. It's not safe to use it anymore. We can grab one on the way home. He'll need formula anyway." Booth's mind was traveling backward in time, trying to recall the things he'd learned when Parker had been an infant. He hoped that this baby wouldn't be stubborn about taking a bottle. Parker had been breastfed for the majority of his infancy, and it had taken months to convince him to take a bottle. He made a mental note to get a few different kinds of formula in case this baby didn't tolerate the usual concoction. _Soy, hypoallergenic, maybe the kind with rice cereal in it…_

Booth gave his wife a crash course in infant nutrition as they perused the baby section of the Walmart near their home, and Brennan was surprised at the number of things that were required to care for a baby. It wasn't something she'd ever had cause to consider before, and she felt more than a little overwhelmed. When they finally got home, they were both relieved that the baby had managed to stay asleep while being carried into the house.

"Is he okay to sleep in the car seat?" Brennan asked quietly. "We bought that other thing."

"We can set up the playpen for tomorrow. It won't hurt him to stay where he is, and he's sleeping well. If he wakes up later, we can always set it up then," he whispered.

Brennan nodded and changed into her pajamas, wondering whether she would wake up if the baby cried. She assumed that Booth would, even if she didn't. This was one area in which his military sleep training would be very beneficial. They settled into bed, and Booth could feel her tension as he snaked an arm around her waist.

"Hey, don't worry," he murmured. "We'll be fine."

"I don't know anything about babies, Booth."

"Maybe not, but you're the smartest person I know. And I can teach you. You'd be surprised how quickly your instincts take over."

"What if I don't _have_ those instincts?"

"You do," he assured her. "I've watched you with Parker. Your maternal instincts are all there. Don't worry."

"Parker's older though," she argued stubbornly.

"Doesn't matter. You'll learn quickly, just like you did with Parker. Just like you do with everything you put your mind to." He pressed his lips to the back of her head, breathing her in as he closed his eyes. "Get some sleep, baby. I love you."

"I love you too."

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 **So I mostly skipped The Player Under Pressure because there wasn't much that was necessary to talk about for the purposes of my story. Sorry if that was one of your favorites, but I really wanted to move on to the Baby Andy episode. Was anyone else, like me, wondering what on earth was so important about the baby powder? :) You'll notice that I once again softened Booth's snarkiness. That will continue, and while this episode will be covered fairly well, I added quite a few subtle changes to make it appropriate for my characters.**

 **Let me know what you think! More on Tuesday! :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello again! I just wanted to take a quick second to thank my readers for always leaving reviews that are positive, thoughtful, and considerate. I see so many haters reviewing some of the stories I subscribe to (mostly in other fandoms), and I'm so happy not to be dealing with that silliness. So thanks for going easy on me! :)**

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Chapter 18

Brennan needn't have worried about sleeping through the baby's cries. She was now fairly certain that no one would be capable of sleeping that soundly. Although the baby only woke once during the night, he certainly made his displeasure known. Booth assured her that he could handle the feeding and diaper change, but Brennan insisted on watching him. The baby would be with her at the lab the next day, and she wanted to make sure she knew how to care for him. Angela had volunteered to help out, but she had a job to do as well. The daycare at the Jeffersonian was unable to watch him for legal and insurance reasons. They didn't know anything about the infant, and there was no way to find out until they identified the victim from the car.

Booth had at least had the presence of mind to set the alarm a little earlier for the following morning. He remembered all too well how much longer it took to get out of the house with a baby. Brennan was flustered, packing and re-packing the diaper bag repeatedly as she tried to predict everything the baby might need for the day.

"I never realized how much _stuff_ they have. Do you think three outfits is enough?" she asked anxiously.

"That should be fine. If you forget anything, you can always send an intern out for it. Or I can bring it to you. Actually, maybe I could even work from the lab today if you want," he offered, pausing to make a goofy face at the baby.

"Maybe later. Angela seems excited to watch him, and babies take naps, right?"

"Uh… yeah, I'm sure he'll sleep at some point. He might need a little extra attention today though. He's in a new place, around new people… I'm actually surprised he slept as much as he did last night. Babies like their routines."

Brennan filed that information away and helped Booth carry the baby and all of his equipment to the SUV. Booth smiled each time she turned to check on him as they made their way to the lab. _She'll be such a great mom someday,_ he mused, capturing her hand to his lips. Booth helped her set up the playpen in her office before heading to the Hoover, and after the second morning feeding, Brennan was pleasantly surprised when the baby dozed off, allowing her to get some work done. She carried a baby monitor with her through the lab as she checked in with the rest of the squints.

The team worked as efficiently as always, but Cam's workload was increased by the unexpected sight of Angela carrying a dirty diaper. The key was still missing in action, but the baby's bowel movement was almost bright pink. Cam agreed to run a test in an effort to find out the reason and promised Brennan she would let her know the results as soon as possible.

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By midday, they had a face and county of origin for their victim. The vehicle she'd been driving had come from a junkyard in West Virginia. Hodgins used isotope analysis to discover that she had lived in Tucker County, most likely in a town not far from the junkyard. Booth and Brennan decided to take the baby with them on the off chance that someone from the small town of Huntsville might recognize him. Brennan was confident that there were enough genetic similarities between the baby's face and Angela's digital reconstruction to indicate that the baby had lost his mother. She only hoped that they were able to locate his father during the course of their investigation. The last thing she wanted was to see the boy disappear into the system.

Finding someone to question in Huntsville took a little longer than they'd expected. The place was a ghost town, deserted and run down after the closure of a nearby coal mine the previous year. Booth pulled over to question the first person they spotted.

"You people from the government?" the man asked, his tone slightly skeptical.

"Yes, sir. With the FBI."

"Huh," he nodded. "Training them up young, I see." He gestured to the baby in the infant carrier Brennan was holding.

"If you could just… help us," Booth began awkwardly.

"Right. Just like the government helped us when the bridge washed out. When they closed the school."

"When the economy dies, the logical thing to do is move," Brennan said simply. The man immediately began to get worked up about wanting to stay in the place where his family had thrived for several generations, but before he could really get in his stride, his wife came out of the house to interrupt his tantrum.

"Paul, who are you hollering at now?" she demanded.

"They're from the government," he replied, as though it were perfectly normal to chastise government officials he'd just met. Paul's wife, who would later introduce herself as Dorothy, spotted the baby at that moment, and she immediately assumed that Booth and Brennan had removed him from his mother's care.

"You should be ashamed," she admonished them. "That girl does the best she can to provide for Andy."

"Andy? You know this baby?" Booth asked hopefully.

"Yeah… The folks up the street, Carol and Jim Grant… They take care of him when his mom works," Dorothy answered, looking only a little less suspicious of their motives.

"Is this his mother?" Brennan asked, holding up Angela's reconstruction. Dorothy thought that the picture did indeed look like the woman she knew, and she directed them to the home of the neighbors she had mentioned.

The Grants identified the victim as Meg Taylor, a former high school classmate. They knew Andy's father as well, but they reported that the man, Lou, was an alcoholic who was frequently in and out of jail. He'd left Meg before Andy was born. Brennan felt her heart sink as she listened to their account of the man, knowing that there was a very good chance Andy might be in the system for a long time. She was pleasantly surprised when Carol Grant volunteered to watch Andy for the time being, and although he would have to stay with Booth and Brennan until the key made a reappearance, she hoped that the Grants might be willing to welcome the little boy into their home on a more permanent basis.

Jim and Carol directed them to Meg's place of employment as well as her home. As they made their way across town to check out the victim's residence, Brennan took a call from Cam. The pink dirty diaper had apparently been the result of a pharmaceutical dye used to color phenobarbital. Andy had still been breastfeeding prior to his mother's death, so it was impossible to tell whether it was he or his mother who had ingested it.

"Phenobarbital is prescribed for seizures," Brennan explained once she'd ended the call. "We'll have to see if we can find a prescription bottle in the house to find out whether it was his medicine or Meg's."

When they arrived at Meg's home, the front door was hanging open, and Booth insisted that Brennan stay in the SUV with Andy until he made sure everything was safe.

"But-"

"No 'buts.' Bones, there's a baby involved. If you hear gunfire or anything like that you _drive away_."

"I'm not leaving you," she argued.

"Yes you will, because this is about the baby. Not me. Promise me." His eyes were intense and firm as he waited for her answer, and Brennan gave Andy a long look before she nodded.

"I promise," she said reluctantly. She watched her husband draw his weapon and approach the house cautiously, disappearing through the open door. He was inside for only a few minutes before Andy began to fuss, and Brennan climbed into the back seat to sit next to him. She rearranged his blanket a little and stroked his forehead soothingly.

"We will find out what happened to your mother," she told him. "I promise. Booth is an excellent investigator, and I don't like to boast, but I'm the best in my field." Andy continued to fuss and squirm beneath his five-point harness, and Brennan shifted tactics. "What do you want? How about some visual and auditory stimulation?"

 _What should I do? Sing? Make faces? He laughs when Booth makes faces at him…_ She decided to wiggle her fingers at him, and his surprise at the sudden movement was enough to stop his squalling.

"Phalanges!" she cooed at him happily. "Phalanges, phalanges! Dancing phalanges!" Brennan laughed along with him. "Booth thinks bones are dry and boring, but… Show me your phalanges!"

Andy mimicked the movements of her fingers, still smiling for a few moments before his expression changed. He wasn't really smiling anymore, but he didn't look upset either. Instead, his eyes became slightly glassy and froze in place while his body became completely still. It only lasted a few seconds, but Brennan was slightly concerned. When his eyes moved again, the smile was back on his face, and he seemed perfectly fine.

Brennan didn't have much time to consider what she'd seen before Booth was escorting a wild-haired man out of Meg's trailer. The man was insisting that he hadn't killed his wife and wouldn't have wanted her dead because she occasionally gave him money for bail and alcohol. He had, however, broken into his wife's home and trashed the interior in search of cash and valuables, and Booth had him picked up by the county sheriff.

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Once the forensic techs had done a sweep of the trailer, Brennan did one of her own and found a small bottle of phenobarbital with Andy's name on the prescription label. The clinic listed was more than fifty miles away from Huntsville. A calendar hanging on the wall in the tiny kitchen indicated that there had been a medical appointment in DC the day Meg had been killed, which explained why her vehicle had been found so far from home.

As they were leaving the residence, Brennan called for an update from the lab. Angela had used Andy's x-rays to determine that the key had most likely been for a safety deposit box. It was an older style, and she was attempting to track down banks in the Huntsville area that still used that type of key. Zack had been working with the bones and reported that Meg had healed compression fractures in two of her lumbar vertebrae that were most likely caused by malnourishment. She also had several other indicators that she suffered chronic pain, but there was no trace of painkillers in either Meg's tox screen or Andy's.

"She was in near constant pain, but she never took anything," Brennan told her husband as they drove out to Meg's former workplace.

"Probably because she didn't want it affecting her… you know, her _supply_ ," Booth replied uncomfortably.

"You know, you can say _breast milk_. It won't offend anyone," she smirked, amused by his awkwardness. "Didn't you say Rebecca breastfed Parker?"

"Yeah, I just… Nevermind. Look, what I do know is that it could've caused the malnourishment. If she wasn't able to take care of her body, then Andy was getting all of her nutrients. There was nothing left for her."

"It's common with people living in impoverished conditions like this," Brennan agreed, frowning as they passed one abandoned building after another.

Meg Taylor had been employed at Fallbrook Rubber, a recycling facility that turned old tires into groundcover for playgrounds and landscaping. Her boss, Chip Barnett seemed stunned at the news of her death. He knew of her chronic pain and had offered to put her on disability, but Meg had refused because disability wouldn't have covered her expenses. Barnett didn't know anything about Meg's personal life, but a few of the employees stopped to contribute what little they'd known about her.

It was common knowledge that Meg's husband was a lowlife and a drunk, and one of Meg's coworkers suggested that perhaps he'd become jealous of a man who had recently shown romantic interest in Meg. His name was Dave Shepard, and he worked as an accountant at the corporate headquarters in DC. Shepard had been in town for a week and had been visiting the facility looking to cut costs. Most of the employees took that to mean that their jobs could potentially disappear. Meg had seemed to return the man's attention, but one of the employees insisted that the only person Meg had ever really cared about was Andy.

As they returned to the SUV, Booth was on his cell barking orders at Charlie. Brennan kept an eye on Andy as she carried him in his seat to the car, tapping her husband's arm lightly to get his attention.

"Booth… Booth, he's making that face again," she said nervously. Booth leaned in for a closer look and shook his head.

"He's probably just filling his diaper, Bones. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours, but I don't think that's the problem," she replied, still watching the baby. "He made a face like that earlier, and it had nothing to do with his diaper. I think it might be a seizure."

"What? He's not twitching or anything," Booth pointed out, confused.

"Not all seizures look like that. It could be a petit mal seizure, commonly referred to as an absence seizure. They're usually short, and then the brain returns to normal activity. Like that," she explained, gesturing back to Andy. He was grinning at them again, as though nothing had happened. "Maybe that's why he was on the phenobarbital."

"He's gonna be okay, right? Does he need a doctor?" Booth asked anxiously. "We're still waiting on his medical records."

"I think he'll be fine for now. He missed a dose of his medicine, so maybe that's the cause." Brennan removed the small medicine bottle from the diaper bag, read the label carefully, and measured a dose. Andy swallowed the red liquid without a fuss. They decided to feed and change him before getting back on the road, and when Booth opened the diaper, he was equally relieved and disgusted to see the small silver key.

Brennan donned a pair of gloves and cleaned the key with saline. They called Angela to see what information she'd come up with in regards to the key, and the artist explained that the key should be coded with a series of numbers that corresponded to a specific bank. Brennan read the numbers aloud, and Angela traced them to Green Hills Bank in Petersburg, West Virginia. They ended the call, and Brennan turned to watch Booth playing with the baby. When he held Andy up in the air to mimic dancing, she was surprised at what she saw.

"His legs are bowed," Brennan announced, stepping closer to examine him.

"All babies' legs are bowed."

"Not like this. How could I have missed that?" She went back to her phone and sent a quick text to Zack, instructing him to run a P ratio test on the victim's teeth.

"What's the big deal?" Booth asked, still making a fool of himself for Andy's amusement.

"Maybe nothing. We'll see. Ange sent the address for that bank. It's in Petersburg, which is one town over from Huntsville."

"Great. I'll request a warrant, and that'll give us time to go to Family Services in-"

"What? No! Not yet," Brennan said in alarm. Booth gave her a commiserating look.

"Bones, I know this is difficult, but we both agreed that we'd keep Andy until we got the key. Now that we have it…"

"No," Brennan said firmly. "You can't leave him with Family Services in the middle of nowhere. Cam still needs to review his medical records." She lifted the baby from his arms and put him back in the infant carrier, strapping him in with an efficiency that contradicted her lack of experience.

"Oh, well… Bones, there are doctors there," he reminded her.

"You have no idea what that place will be like, Booth. Med students, underfunded, understaffed-"

"Bones-"

"His mother is dead, and his father is a felon. I'm not turning him over until I'm satisfied that he's somewhere safe where he'll get the care he deserves."

"Fine," he surrendered, smiling at her stubbornness and her heart. "He can stay with us for now."

"Thank you," Brennan replied in a softer tone, her own lips curving upward as well. He leaned in to kiss her lightly, and his grin stayed in place as he reorganized the mess he'd made of the diaper bag. He stifled a laugh of pure joy as he watched his wife blow a giant raspberry on Andy's cheek, eliciting a fresh round of giggles from the little boy.

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That night, Brennan woke with a start, her gaze flickering this way and that through the darkness of their bedroom. She wasn't sure what had awoken her, but something compelled her to check on Andy. She slipped from the bed, noting that Booth was still asleep, and crossed the room to the playpen. Andy grinned up at her, kicking his feet happily.

"You're supposed to be asleep," she whispered, leaning down to lift his small body into her arms. He patted her cheeks with his tiny hands, and she kissed his forehead affectionately. She glanced once more at her sleeping husband before heading downstairs. Brennan changed Andy's diaper and prepared a bottle, finally settling into the rocking chair in the living room. The room was dark, lit only by the dim lamplight from the next room, but it was sufficient to see the delicate features of the baby in her arms.

"You know, this is the first time I've sat in this chair," she told him conversationally. "Booth insisted that he needed a new recliner when we moved here, and Parker wanted one that was able to rock. I think he enjoys the sensory stimulation. Looks like you do too." She smiled as she watched Andy battle with his drooping eyes.

She began to hum quietly as she looked at him. Brennan had never really bonded with a child this young. Even in the foster homes she'd shared with infants or toddlers, she'd been unable to connect with them in any real way. Her own life had been such a nightmare in most of those homes that there had been little energy left to spare for worrying about someone else. In the more violent homes, she'd done her best to shield the younger children from the brunt of the abuse, but she'd never had much of a relationship with any of them.

Her bond with Parker was the first of its kind in her life. She enjoyed her nieces as well, but her stepson held a unique place in her heart. Their connection had been so easily formed, nearly instantaneous, and the bond with Andy had happened almost as quickly. Once she'd gotten past her anxiety over being responsible for an infant, she'd learned how to take care of him fairly quickly, just as Booth had predicted. Now it seemed incredible that they'd found him only a little over twenty-four hours ago. He seemed to fit so perfectly into their lives.

Did this mean they were ready for a child of their own? Up until this point, the idea had always intimidated her a little, even though she was certain that she did want children eventually. They'd decided that before they'd even moved in together, but they hadn't really discussed it in quite a while. Brennan wondered curiously if Booth was ready to be a father again. Or perhaps he'd always been ready, and he'd just been waiting for her to catch up…

Her eyes had lost their focus while she'd been lost in thought, and when she turned her attention back to Andy, he was sleeping soundly. She gently removed the bottle from his mouth and placed it on the end table next to her, carefully shifting the baby up to her shoulder. He burped after only a few gentle pats to his back, and Brennan smiled when he released a sleepy sigh that tickled her neck.

 _Maybe I_ could _do this,_ she thought. _Maybe I'm ready…_

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Booth woke at the sound of his early alarm, realizing after a few moments that the baby seemed to have slept all night. He smiled into his pillow and reached for his wife… only to find her missing. He sat up quickly, his eyes darting from the bed to the bathroom and then to the playpen. _Empty_. Booth crept quietly down the staircase and through the lower level until he reached the living room, grinning widely at sight that met his eyes.

His beautiful wife had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, holding a slumbering baby in her arms. The image made his chest ache with pride and longing, and his eyes stung from the unexpected rush of emotion. Booth quickly retrieved his cell phone and the digital camera from upstairs and took at least a dozen pictures of them from various angles. The relentless clicking caused Andy to stir, which in turn roused Brennan.

"Morning," Booth whispered, bending to kiss her softly.

"Hi," she smiled back sleepily. "He woke up around four. I must've dozed off."

"Why don't I get him changed and fed again while you take a shower?" he offered, extending his arms toward the baby. Brennan nodded in agreement and kissed Andy's forehead before lifting him upward toward her husband. She watched as Booth ambled off into the kitchen, dancing a little and making more ridiculous faces to make Andy laugh.

As she showered, Brennan became contemplative once again, turning over the question of parenthood in her mind. She felt ready, and she hoped that Booth was too. She knew, however, that now was probably not the right time to bring it up. Max's trial was due to begin next week, and they both had enough to worry about at the moment. Brennan's stress and anxiety over the potential outcomes of the trial were still in high gear. Surely it was better to address the possibility of having a baby once their lives had settled a little bit.

Because one way or another, her father's fate would be decided in a little over a week.

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The case progressed quickly that day, but the majority of the legwork fell on the shoulders of Booth and the rest of the squints. Brennan spent hours in her office, taking care of Andy and making phone calls to the Congressman who represented the Huntsville area. When that avenue was unsuccessful, she called the offices of every government official who had ever received her monetary support. It seemed to her that what the town of Huntsville really needed was a new bridge. It would put the town back on the scenic route and ensure that the local economy could recover. If Carol and Jim Grant were willing to become Andy's parents, then they would need stable jobs in order to provide for him.

Meg Taylor had secured only one item in her safety deposit box: a gun. The serial numbers had been filed off, but with a little science and a little more investigation, Booth and Brennan were able to track it to a pawn shop that had long since closed its doors. There were shards of bone inside the gun barrel, and Cam was able to trace the DNA to Dave Shepard. The man had been shot point blank in the forehead, and remnants of skin on the grip and trigger indicated that Shepard's assailant had been male.

A homeless man had discovered a blood-stained canvas bag near the abandoned coal mine in Huntsville, and the credit card inside had belonged to Shepard. The FBI was able to locate the man and the bag through credit card receipts, and they were able to confiscate the bag and its contents. The only item of potential help was a crushed USB drive that Angela was working to repair.

Hodgins was able to retrieve particulates from the gun that suggested the weapon had been at the tire recycling facility at some point, and Booth decided that another visit to Huntsville was in order. Brennan reluctantly left the baby in Angela's care and accompanied her husband back to Tucker County. A small group of FBI forensic techs followed them in a van, and the manager looked less than pleased to see them when they arrived. They spoke with Barnett briefly, showing him the search warrant and dodging his questions efficiently. Booth and Brennan were standing quietly, observing the routines and processes of the facility, when Brennan's attention was caught by the machine that was being used to shred the deflated tires.

"Where're you going?" Booth shouted as his wife took off toward the large machine. "Bones!" She didn't answer but quickly climbed the stairs of a scaffold that stood next to the mouth of the machine. A long conveyer belt moved the tires up from the ground and dumped them steadily into the opening.

"Booth, look at this." He had followed right behind her and peered over the railing of the scaffold to watch the gears and teeth of the machine as it methodically shredded the rubber. She shouted down at an employee to turn off the machine. Booth was following her logic effortlessly.

"Yeah, if I were a dead body, and I needed to disappear-"

"This would be a pretty thorough way to do it," she nodded, finishing his sentence. Booth asked the employee how often the mulch was shipped out, and the timeframe indicated that Dave Shepard's body might still be at the facility.

The rubber mulch was collected in giant plastic bags that were nearly as tall as Brennan. The helpful employee guided them to an area of the warehouse that was used to store the bagged mulch, and she ran to the SUV to grab her kit. Brennan used a simple method to figure out which bags contained the remains of Dave Shepard. Although all of the mulch had been cleaned thoroughly before being bagged, she knew that the bones would still be there. Booth dropped a handful from each bag into a plastic beaker of water, and they watched as the rubber pieces floated while the shards of bone sank. While Booth ensured that the plant was shut down immediately, Brennan took a call from Angela.

"Brennan, it's me. Turn on your video stream," she instructed.

"Is Andy alright?"

"Yeah, Cam's pediatrician friend is examining him right now. The baby's fine," Angela assured her, inwardly tickled at her friend's display of maternal instincts. As soon as the video connection was live, Angela sent over the data she'd recovered from the flash drive. "Take a look at this. I recovered most of the memory from that flash drive. Dave Shepard's internal audit showed a completely different set of numbers than those reported to corporate headquarters."

"Somebody was doctoring the profits," Booth surmised, having followed Brennan out to the SUV to look over her shoulder.

"Siphoning money into a private account," Brennan agreed. "Dave would've figured it out while he was in Huntsville. That's probably what got him killed."

"And if Meg knew about it, then the killer would want her dead too. Come on." They closed the video feed and returned to the warehouse. "Where's Barnett?"

"Chip left," one of the workers replied. "Said he had an emergency at home."

In seconds, Booth and Brennan were back in the SUV, speeding toward Barnett's home with the siren blaring. They were able to cut him off at the end of his driveway, but Barnett attempted to flee on foot. He was an older man in poor physical shape, and Booth caught up with him easily.

"Chip Barnett, you're under arrest for eluding a federal agent. I'm sure we'll be throwing in a few murder charges as well. You know your rights, yeah?" Booth pushed the man roughly into a chain-link fence as he cuffed him.

"Yeah," Barnett grunted in response, and Booth spun the man around to face him. "It was only a matter of time before they closed the plant."

"So you embezzled from the company," Booth accused. Brennan stood just behind him, scowling in disgust.

"A man does what he has to for his family."

"So that justifies the killing of two innocent people?" Brennan shouted.

"Shepard was gonna turn me in."

"So you _shot_ him. Meg witnessed it, got a hold of the gun…" Booth filled in.

"She wanted money to keep quiet, take her kid to some doctor in DC."

"So you knew where she was headed," Brennan concluded. Booth was growing angrier by the second.

"Yeah, you followed her out of town so you could kill her with no one around."

"I didn't want to kill her," Barnett denied. "I went to her trailer to look for the gun first, but you do what you have to-"

"There was a _baby_ in that car," Brennan snarled, pushing past Booth to grip the neck of Barnett's shirt. She pushed him forcefully into the fence. "You _son of a bitch_."

"Bones," Booth interceded, grasping her shoulders gently to pull her away. She shrugged him off and stomped back to wait in the SUV, leaving Booth to detain Barrett until the county sheriff arrived.

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By the time Booth and Brennan returned to the lab, the workday was drawing to a close. Booth dropped her off and went to check in at the Hoover before returning to the Jeffersonian. He found her in her office, entertaining Andy with his stuffed elephant. The forensic techs had turned up a letter in Meg's trailer, and Booth hoped that Brennan would be satisfied once she'd read it. Before he could tell her much about it, however, they were interrupted by Cam.

"Hey," she greeted them. "So it turns out that Andy has a genetic condition."

"What is it?" Booth asked promptly, frowning in concern.

"Vitamin D-resistant rickets. The test Zack did confirmed that Meg had a mild form with very few symptoms. She probably didn't even know she had it."

"But males are prone to more severe cases than females," Brennan nodded. "So Andy would have exhibited more extreme symptomatology."

"Including the seizures. The clinic probably prescribed him the phenobarbital without searching for underlying causes."

"Well, is Andy going to be alright?" Booth asked.

"Absolutely," Cam assured him, smiling when he sagged in relief. "It's very treatable. My friend can treat him as an outpatient. Andy's going to be fine."

"Thanks, Cam. Really," Brennan said sincerely, relief clear in her features as well. As Cam headed back to her office, Booth and Brennan turned simultaneously to Andy and began to talk to him.

"Yeah!"

"You're going to be fine," Brennan grinned at him.

"Looks like our little guy's going to be just fine," Booth said happily. When he caught his wife's eyes, he belatedly realized what he'd said. " _The_ little guy," he corrected awkwardly.

"Andy," she smiled back. They communicated silently for several long moments, and Brennan saw something flash in his eyes.

 _Maybe we can have that talk sooner than I thought._

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The letter found in Meg's trailer turned out to be a letter to Carol Grant, begging her to take care of her son if anything should happen to her. The Grants traveled to DC the following day and met with Booth and Brennan at the Hoover. Brennan swayed unconsciously with Andy in her arms as she watched the Grants sign the adoption papers, and she handed him over to Carol with a watery smile.

Part of her was relieved that Andy would have parents who obviously loved him very much, but a smaller part of her ached to see him go. In such a short time, this tiny person had shifted something within her, and she knew that there was no going back. She was ready. She wanted a baby. Maybe not right away, but soon.

As they drove home, Brennan flipped through a report Carol had given her before leaving with Andy. The government officials she'd reached out to hadn't been able to help, so Brennan had decided to seek another solution.

"What's all that?" Booth asked, glancing curiously at the thick document in her hands.

"It's information Carol gave me, from a structural engineer," she replied. When he raised his brows questioningly, she continued, "The congressmen couldn't help, so I was going to talk to you about rebuilding the bridge into Huntsville. I want to hire Carol Grant as the project manager; it's what she did before the local economy crashed."

"I thought you said the people were better off just moving away," he reminded her with a smile.

"Yes, but sometimes it only takes one thing, like a bridge, for a town to start recovering. If the town is back on the scenic route, the gas stations could reopen, restaurants, maybe a bed and breakfast for people wanting to stay in the area…" As she spoke, her expression became gradually more excited until she was beaming at the possibilities.

"So I take it you want to use your book money for the project? Will it be enough?"

"Well, there's still a lot left over from my previous books, and my publisher actually mentioned selling movie rights-"

"Whoa, _movie rights?_ Wow, Bones. That's incredible."

"Yes, well… I wasn't sure about it, but now that I have a use for the money, I'm leaning toward a yes. I wanted to discuss it with you though. People occasionally recognize me, and I know it makes you feel awkward sometimes. I can only assume it would be worse if any of my books were made into films. I didn't give them an answer either way yet."

"Bones, don't worry about that. If this is what you want, then I'm with you. Plus, I'm in complete agreement with the bridge idea. We don't need the money, and these people need the help." They shared a long smile before Brennan nodded and went back to reading the report.

Booth glanced at her repeatedly as he drove, still a little shocked that she had come up with a plan to save an entire town. She was without a doubt the most generous and selfless person he'd ever known, and he was proud of her on so many levels. He hoped that he could convince her to visit Huntsville someday, maybe even stay in that bed and breakfast she'd imagined.

 _It would be nice to see Andy again too…_

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 **I just loved this episode. *warm fuzzies* But hang on to your butts, cause Max's trial is next. Can't believe this is almost done! I'm sad and relieved at the same time. :)**

 **Reviews _also_ give me *warm fuzzies* Just so you know. ;)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Good morning everyone! Hope you enjoy this one. I had a hard time deciding how much of the actual episode to include in the retelling, but I think I ended up with a decent balance. I tried to summarize as much of the court stuff as I could, so hopefully it doesn't get tedious.**

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Chapter 19

As Max's trial loomed ever closer, Brennan was having increasingly more trouble managing her anxiety. She was perpetually exhausted from lack of sleep, struggling with persistent nausea, and even feeling dizzy at times. So dizzy, in fact, that she fainted in Angela's office two days before the trial. When she regained consciousness, her friend was kneeling next to her on the area rug, her eyes wide with concern.

"My God, Sweetie! You scared the hell out of me! Are you alright?" Angela helped her to move from the floor to the couch, and Brennan closed her eyes in the hope that the room might stop spinning.

"I'm fine, Ange. My body isn't tolerating my elevated stress levels. I'll be okay."

"I should call Booth-"

"No!" she said firmly. Angela looked shocked by her outburst, and Brennan forced herself to stay calm. "Please don't tell Booth. He's already under a lot of stress himself, especially because of how poorly I've been feeling lately. Not to mention the fact that he has to testify against Max. His guilt is really troubling him, and I don't want to add to it. Please, Ange."

"Brennan, he'd still want to know."

"I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't had an appetite to eat anything yet today; I'm sure it's just low blood sugar combined with stress. Maybe even dehydration. I'll be fine," she insisted. Angela looked at her skeptically, and Brennan could tell her friend was weighing the risk of Booth's potential anger with Brennan's potential frustration over being ratted out.

"Okay, I'll stay out of it, but you have to _promise_ to talk to Booth about it when you get home later." She paused and waited for Brennan to give her a reluctant nod of assent. "And for heaven's sake _eat_ something. It's three in the afternoon, Bren."

"I will. Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Angela said sardonically. "Just leave me out of it when you tell Booth."

Brennan kept her word, or at least part of it. She did get something to eat and drink immediately upon leaving Angela's office, and by the time Booth arrived to take her home, she was feeling slightly better. At least she was no longer feeling lightheaded. She decided to keep mum about her fainting spell for the time being. Booth had enough to worry about at the moment, and she simply couldn't bring herself to add one more burden.

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The day before the trial started, Booth and Brennan were forced to spend most of their time apart. Booth was scheduled to attend a meeting with Caroline and the rest of the squints to go over their testimonies, and Brennan spent several hours at the prison with Max, Russ, Clark Edison and David Barron, the defense attorney. Clark had agreed to step in as the forensic expert for the defense. Although Max would have preferred to have his daughter's scientific expertise on his side, he wouldn't have asked it of her even if such an arrangement would have been permitted.

After the strategizing was finished, Brennan was left alone in the visitation room with Max, and he could see that her resolve was crumbling. He wasn't sure if she was ill or simply overwhelmed, but he was alarmed by how exhausted she looked.

"Honey, it'll be okay," he told her, doing his best to sound confident and reassuring.

"I can't stop this from happening." Her eyes filled as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"What do you mean?"

"Booth, Hodgins, Zack, Angela, Cam… They're all my friends, but I can't…" Brennan's voice broke as a tiny sob escaped her.

"Hey, listen. I know you love me, alright? I can see it even if no one else can, so that's something you don't have to worry about."

"Other people can see it too, Dad. I've been a mess for weeks," she sniffled. Max reached across the table and took her hand, bringing it to his lips in a paternal gesture of affection. Brennan gave him a watery smile. "I do love you. I'm sorry I don't say it out loud."

"I love you too, Tempe," he murmured quietly, closing his eyes to savor the words she'd spoken. They were a gift he hadn't expected. One he would cherish no matter how long or short his life turned out to be.

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Caroline was in high form during the prosecutorial briefing. She had a snarky tip for everyone in the conference room, and although the majority of them shrugged it off, Angela response was the biggest surprise.

"I'm not taking the stand," she informed the group.

"You have to," Cam said gently. Testifying against Brennan's father wasn't something any of them were looking forward to, but there was no getting around it.

"Look, I'm not gonna tell anybody else what to do here, but I'm not testifying." And with that, she stood and left the room. Fearing the possibility of a mass exodus, Caroline appealed to Booth for intervention.

"Bones wants us all to do our jobs. She's not going to hold anyone's testimony against them, alright? She believes in the system."

"Dr. Brennan does seem to have an enviable, if somewhat disturbing, ability to compartmentalize," Sweets agreed. Booth fought the urge to roll his eyes.

 _He wouldn't be saying that if he'd been living with her lately_ , he grumbled inwardly.

The others agreed that they would remain professional in spite of their personal feelings toward Brennan, and the group dispersed at the end of the meeting. Booth drove home that evening with a heavy heart and a mind full of questions. To his surprise, Brennan had been the first one home, and he found her in the kitchen working on dinner. He joined her, sneaking a kiss as well as a taste of the sauce she was stirring.

"So Clark was at the lab today to look at the evidence?" Booth asked as they sat down to eat a short while later.

"Yes. He's still going to do a more in-depth analysis of his own, but the attorney seemed satisfied with his preliminary findings. He's reading my past case files too."

"Why?"

"He said it was because I taught Zack."

"Ah. Makes sense I suppose." They continued eating in silence for a few moments before Booth broached the subject that had been distracting him all afternoon. "The meeting with Caroline was interesting."

"In a way that involves something you're allowed to tell me?" Brennan asked cautiously.

"Yeah. Angela's refusing to testify."

" _What?"_ Her fork paused in mid-air, completely forgotten. "What do you mean she's 'refusing?' She can't refuse. It's her job."

"I know, and I think Caroline is going to work on her, but… She seemed pretty adamant. Got up and walked right out of the meeting."

"I should call her-"

"No, let Caroline handle it. It's Angela's decision anyway," Booth replied, his eyes fixed on his plate. Brennan was having difficulty reading his expression. He looked almost...hopeful.

"Why are you making that face? Is anyone else refusing?"

"No, just Angela right now. Though Hodgins seemed to be wavering a little. I've been thinking that maybe…"

"What?" she prompted. He was looking nervous.

"If Angela can get away with not testifying, maybe I could too," he said hesitantly. _Yeah, I'd probably lose my job, but wouldn't it be worth it?_

"Absolutely not," she said firmly. "You'd be fired, not to mention thrown in jail for contempt of court."

"Yeah, but-"

" _No_. No 'buts.' We've been over this. I want you to do your job, Booth. Get on that stand and tell the truth, no matter what."

"It feels like I'm betraying you, Bones. And I swore I'd never do that." He was looking her directly now, and she hated the pain she saw in his eyes.

"That's not what this is," she disagreed. "I won't hold it against you, regardless of how the trial goes. I promise. Actually, if you refuse to testify, I'll be angry with you."

"Angry?"

"Of course. If you lose your job, I lose my partner. I won't work with anyone else, Booth. Think about all of the lives we've saved by catching murderers. Think of all the ones we'll save in the future. It's wrong and illogical to value my father's life more than those countless lives we save by doing our jobs. You have to testify."

Their eyes held for another long moment before he nodded his assent. Sometimes he really hated when she used logic on him.

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Booth and Brennan sat together on Max's side of the courtroom while they waited for the judge to appear the next morning. Brennan noticed Caroline glaring at Booth, but he seemed to be ignoring her.

"Are you sure you're allowed to sit over here?" she whispered to her husband. "Caroline looks unhappy about it."

"She'll get over it. I belong here," he smiled at her. "With my family."

Brennan smiled back sadly, wishing they could simply get through the trial quickly. She suspected that the uncertainty of her father's fate might be worse than actually coping with the outcome. She'd been ill again that morning, and she was grateful that Booth hadn't pestered her to eat something for breakfast.

The judge seemed like the no-nonsense type, which was something Brennan could appreciate. They listened to the opening arguments, and when the judge declared a short recess before the first of the prosecutorial testimonies, they sat in the hallway with cups of coffee.

"Courthouse coffee is almost as bad as Bureau coffee," Booth grumbled, sipping the hot beverage experimentally.

"Is this decaf?" Brennan scowled.

"Yeah, you haven't really slept in _days_ , Bones. I didn't think enabling your insomnia with caffeine would be a good idea."

"Fair point," she replied grudgingly. "I didn't see Angela yet."

"She's not up until this afternoon. If she shows up at all."

"I texted her this morning, but she didn't answer. I can't believe she's making such a big deal over this. Hodgins actually asked my _permission_ to testify."

"No one really wants to do this, Bones. I'm not the only one who thinks it's wrong."

Before Brennan could reply, court was called back into session, and they took their seats again. Over the course of the morning, Brennan watched her friends take the stand and give their testimonies. Cam verified the DNA evidence, Zack identified a narrow copper pipe as the murder weapon, and Hodgins described the particulates that linked the seminary, Booth and Brennan's home, and the rooftop where Kirby's body was burned.

Zack's testimony was a little more difficult for Brennan than the others. She took note of how much her former student had changed over the years. He was no longer awkward and pedantic on the stand, and she couldn't help but be a little proud of him for his growth. She supposed that Iraq must have helped him to mature, but it seemed like more than that. He was composed and completely unflustered by the difficult questions. He spoke clearly with a firm tone, and he seemed far more confident than she was accustomed to see him in this type of setting.

Caroline used several images to support Zack's testimony, but the one that held Brennan's attention was that of Kirby's skull. He had been stabbed at the mastoid process, creating a wound almost identical to the one Booth had described on the body of Peter St. James. Brennan shuddered slightly at the thought of his name and forced herself to focus on the proceedings.

Booth was called to the stand immediately after lunch, and he squeezed her hand affectionately before he rose from his seat. Caroline guided him through a basic explanation of the events that eventually led to finding a pool of Kirby's blood in their home. In his mind's eye, he saw his wife kneeling on their kitchen floor, scrubbing feverishly and shining her blacklight over the area. He remembered the way she had trembled in his arms when they had thought that the blood might have belonged to Russ, and when he chanced a glance at her, he could see from her expression that her memories had taken her to the same place.

"Doctor Hodgins testified that particulates from the Our Lady of Angels Seminary were found in your home as well as on the rooftop of that hotel. He explained that someone had to have transferred those particulates from the seminary to both of the other locations. To your knowledge, was the defendant ever present at any of those locations?" Caroline inquired.

"He was at the seminary that day," Booth replied.

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes, I saw him there."

"What was he doing?" she pressed. At this, Booth's eyes shifted to Brennan's face, and she could see his hesitation. The look she gave him in return was easily interpreted as a demand that he tell the truth.

"He was impersonating a priest," Booth admitted reluctantly. The jury made various noises of disapproval, trading glances amongst one another, and Max had the good sense to appear contrite.

"Thank you," Caroline nodded. Booth resisted the urge to glower at her. "Now, moving on to the murder weapon… Dr. Addy stated that he was convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that the copper pipe found amongst the victim's remains was the murder weapon. Is there any evidence at all tying the defendant to this weapon?"

"In 1966, Max Keenan was sent to Cook County Jail for robbery. He was attacked."

"Did he defend himself?"

"Yes."

"Successfully?"

"Yes." He saw Max turn back toward Brennan and Russ and insist that he'd never killed anyone with the pipe.

"Did he defend himself with this?" Caroline used a small remote to bring up an image of a thin copper pipe on the flat screen. It was nearly identical in size and shape to the pipe found on the hotel rooftop.

"Yes," Booth replied shortly. Caroline pursed her lips at his brevity, apparently not appreciating that he was going to make her work for it.

"What was the result of the attack?"

"Well, no one bothered Max again," he replied, slightly sarcastic.

"Anything else?"

"He had eight months added to his sentence."

"Anything _else,_ Agent Booth," Caroline pressed, clearly frustrated.

"The sharpened pipe kind of became a trademark for him," Booth answered grudgingly. Caroline nodded and thanked him before dismissing him from the stand. When he returned to Brennan's side, she gave him her own nod of approval and took his hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered. She merely shook her head and did her best to give him a smile of encouragement.

Angela had shown up for the afternoon session, but when Caroline directed her to the stand, she was no more forthcoming than she had been the day before. She flat out refused to answer any of the prosecutor's questions, in spite of Brennan practically shouting admonishments at her from the gallery. The team watched in shock as the judge declared her to be in contempt of court, and a bailiff led her from the room. The trial was called to another recess and scheduled to reconvene the following morning for the prosecution's final witness and the first of the cross-examinations.

"Is Angela allowed visitors?" Brennan asked her husband as they left the courtroom. "I have to go talk to Max and his lawyer right now, but if I stop to see Ange on the way home, will they let me in?"

"I'll make sure they do. Do you want me to come with you to the prison?" he offered.

"No thanks. I'm not sure how long it will take, and you wouldn't be allowed in the room for this meeting. I'll try to be home in a couple of hours though."

"Alright," he nodded, hoping that she wasn't trying to cover up any hurt feelings as a result of his testimony. "I'll make dinner, okay?" She smiled in appreciation and kissed his lips softly before walking toward her car.

In truth, Brennan wasn't at all upset by Booth's testimony. She could tell that he'd done his best not to give any more information than Caroline demanded from him. She'd seen him testify in dozens of trials, and by comparison, the difference in his demeanor was quite clear. If she'd been concealing anything from her husband, it was the fact that she felt exhausted and sick to her stomach. Even with Booth's lackluster performance on the stand, the rest of her team had presented the evidence in a clear and concise manner, and she didn't want to think about what that might mean for her father.

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When Brennan entered the visitation room, Max and Russ were both arguing with David Barron about the advisability of putting Max on the stand. Barron was absolutely against it, in spite of Max's willingness to testify on his own behalf. Brennan couldn't help but agree with his reasoning; it would be clear to just about anyone that both of Max's children thought he was guilty.

Russ volunteered to take the stand, but Barron wasn't sure whether he believed Russ was being truthful about what he saw or, in this case, didn't see. Russ insisted that he hadn't witnessed a murder that day, and Brennan supported him. She assured Barron that she could tell when Russ was lying and that he was indeed telling the truth.

Brennan had nearly always been able to tell when Russ was lying, even when they were kids. He'd been able to deceive her the day that he introduced their father to her as a priest, but she was confident in her assessment now. She'd spent more time with him, and Booth had taught her a few things about reading body language.

"A country full of unscrupulous lawyers, and you find the one guy with scruples?" Max said to his children after Barron had left the room. Russ gave his sister a sideways glance, concerned over how run-down she appeared.

"Dad, Tempe's pretty sure you killed that man, and I don't think she can see how you can wear that so lightly." Russ was feeling that way as well, if he were to be completely honest. While he understood Max's actions from a father's perspective, his father's attitude about the whole mess was rather disarming.

"Tempe," Max said gently. "I'm ashamed of a lot of things I've done in my life… But in this case, my conscience is clear."

"That's not the same as being innocent," she replied sadly. He gave a rueful nod, and a guard arrived at the door to escort him back to his cell.

Brennan replayed the exchange in her mind as she headed toward the facility where Angela was being held for contempt of court. She showed her ID and was led through several winding hallways until she reached a small cell. Angela smiled a bit sheepishly when she spotted her friend. To Brennan's surprise, the guard allowed her to sit inside the cell, locking them both in and warning her that he would return for her in fifteen minutes.

"Angela, please. Just go on the stand and say that you identified the victim," Brennan implored her.

"No."

"But I _want_ you to. I promise that I won't be mad, no matter what the jury decides. You shouldn't be in here."

" _No._ Kirby was a son of a bitch, but he was FBI. Do you really think those guys aren't gunning for execution?"

"That's not up to me. Or to you, for that matter. That's up to the jury," Brennan insisted.

"That may be true, but I refuse to help them do it. The DNA identifies him as the victim. They don't really _need_ my testimony other than to belabor the point, and I won't do it."

"That's… true, I guess," Brennan admitted, somewhat surprised by her friend's logic.

"Damn straight, it is. And even if it weren't, there's no way I'm going to add to your stress level by testifying against your father."

"I would be fine," she replied unconvincingly.

"Bren, you've been a complete mess for weeks, maybe longer. You actually _fainted_ from the exhaustion the other day. No way in hell am I going to do anything to make matters worse," Angela said firmly. Brennan smiled at her friend and pulled her in for a tight hug.

"Thank you," she said quietly into Angela's dark hair. "I still think you should've just answered the question, but I appreciate your loyalty."

"Anytime, Sweetie. Though we probably shouldn't make a habit of this," she joked. Brennan chuckled a little.

"Agreed."

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Brennan was greeted by the scent of mushroom risotto when she walked through her door. She gave Booth a tired smile and kissed him in thanks. They ate quietly, and Booth could tell that she was distracted.

"How'd it go at the prison? And with Angela?" he asked quietly.

"Angela still refuses to testify," Brennan answered, pushing her food around on her plate. "She thinks that her testimony isn't really necessary anyway since the DNA was a match for Kirby, and that was identification enough."

"That's a good point. There really isn't anything she could prove that Cam hasn't already proven with her testimony," he agreed. "What about your dad?"

"He wants to take the stand; Barron says no. Russ is going to testify tomorrow though."

"Not you?"

"No, Barron thinks it's too obvious that I believe my dad is guilty," she replied, her tone implying disapproval. "He's probably right, I guess. My dad hasn't brought up the idea of me testifying since last fall."

"I think he probably felt guilty after he brought it up last time, Bones. He's got a _lot_ of guilt where you're concerned." Brennan nodded thoughtfully, and her eyes became distant.

"He said that… He said he feels ashamed of a lot of things he's done in the past but that his 'conscience is clear.' I've been replaying his words in my mind since I left earlier, and I really don't know what to think. It felt like he was talking about more than just Kirby's death."

"I'm sure he was," Booth agreed. "When I talked to him at Christmas, he didn't seem to have any remorse to speak of, and I know he understood what I was referring to." Brennan sighed and forced herself to take another bite of her dinner.

"I haven't changed my mind about forgiving him for everything, but I can't help but feel like he should show just a little bit of remorse. Or does that contradict the fact that I've forgiven him? I'm so confused…"

"Hey," Booth reached across the table and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that he knew she found to be soothing. "Max has made his own choices in life, and now he's taking responsibility for them, one way or another. I think that he feels plenty of remorse for the things he's done, though maybe they're not the things _society_ thinks he should feel sorry for. I know he's carrying a lot of guilt over the way things went for you after he and your mom left. I can't imagine how badly I'd feel if I were in his place. Those kinds of emotions aren't easily dealt with."

Brennan considered his words and found herself agreeing with his logic. If there was anything Booth understood more than anyone else she knew, it was guilt. If he could see regret and remorse in her father, then she trusted his judgment. As they cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for bed, Brennan was feeling more drained and exhausted than she'd ever felt. To her surprise as well as Booth's, she fell asleep quickly that evening. Booth was sure that she had simply reached the end of her capacity, and he held her close all night, praying that she would be granted a reprieve from her nightmares.

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Brennan woke the next morning with a new kind of resolve. She was determined to find a way to help Max. Although she had slept a little better than she'd expected, she was still suffering from the overload of stress. She was nauseated and shaky, even a little dizzy again. Conscious of her prior collapse in Angela's office, she made a halfhearted attempt to eat breakfast with Booth. After only a few bites, however, she pushed her plate aside.

"Bones, you really need to eat more. Going without food will only make you feel worse," Booth said gently.

"I tried, Booth. The last thing I need is to vomit during the hearing."

"Have you been throwing up?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

"No, but I don't want to risk it."

He frowned as he watched her fill an insulated cup with water, noting that she was slightly unsteady on her feet. Skipping breakfast used to be a normal habit for her, but over the years, Booth had coaxed her into eating with him most mornings. He decided to back off for now, however, understanding that her anxiety was probably making her feel sick to her stomach.

"Okay," he relented. "But you're going to eat lunch. No arguments."

"Okay," she agreed. "I don't understand why I'm having so much trouble with this. It happened last fall too. I used to be able to manage just about any kind of stress without feeling like this. It makes me feel weak, and I hate it."

"Bones, you're _not_ weak," Booth assured her, folding her into his chest. "It's completely normal to be this worked up and stressed out about everything, alright? You have to remember that you're not the same person you used to be."

"You mean the person I was before you came along?" she asked, gazing up at him with a weary smile.

"Well… yeah. You used to hide behind your proverbial walls so that nothing could touch you. When you made the decision to let me in and let me bring you outside of those walls, you made yourself vulnerable, but that's not a bad thing," he smiled. "You made yourself more human. You opened yourself up to more possibilities, to love, to happiness."

"I'm glad I did," she replied honestly. Brennan kissed his lips softly. "I wouldn't change things, even if I could. You were the first person who taught me that it was possible to feel safe and vulnerable at the same time. I'll always be grateful for that."

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"Why is Sweets testifying?" Brennan whispered to her husband as their former psychologist made his way to the stand.

"He did the psychological profile on Max. I didn't know until this morning."

Brennan frowned but nodded, recalling that they hadn't really seen much of Sweets lately. As she listened to him list his qualifications, her eyebrows inched higher and higher on her forehead. He had multiple doctorates from Columbia University and had been awarded two prestigious scholarships. His position at the FBI had apparently come about as a result of a book he'd published about psychological profiling. Brennan exchanged a look of surprise with Booth, but neither spoke.

"Dr. Sweets, did you compile a psychological profile of the defendant?" Caroline asked.

"Yes, over a series of meetings spanning over six months."

 _Six months?_ Brennan thought, her eyes widening slightly. Sweets had apparently been talking to her father since the previous November, months before he had offered to help her cope with her father's situation. She couldn't help but feel a little betrayed by that, and she found herself wondering about his motives. She understood, however, that as far as Max was concerned, Sweets was simply doing his job. Just like the rest of the team, apart from Angela.

"Is he capable of murder?"

"Most definitely," Sweets nodded. "In his own way, Max Keenan is a very impressive man."

"What do you mean 'in his own way?'"

"Well, Max Keenan doesn't adhere to an external ethics system."

"He does what he wants," Caroline translated.

"No. He does what he thinks is _right_ , whether or not the rest of the world agrees. In another time, he could have been a great leader."

"You mean in a time when people conked each other over the head and lit them on fire as a way of getting what they want," Caroline replied sarcastically. Sweets answered in the affirmative. "Is Max Keenan dangerous?"

"When he feels his loved ones are threatened? Very dangerous."

"In your opinion, if Max Keenan felt that he or his family were threatened, could he do this?" She pointed her small remote at the flat screen again, and a photograph of Kirby's charred remains appeared.

"Indubitably."

"Without hesitation?" Caroline prompted.

"Without hesitation, without remorse… without guilt."

Sweets was dismissed from the stand at that point, but Brennan found herself replaying his words. ' _Without hesitation, without remorse… without guilt._ ' As she watched Russ be sworn in next, she recalled her conversation with Booth from the previous evening and knew that Sweets was absolutely correct in his assessment. She also knew that she couldn't rationally hold his testimony against him. His job was to tell the truth, and that was exactly what he'd done.

Russ's testimony went poorly from a defense standpoint, and by the end of it, David Barron looked like he'd swallowed a mouthful of something bitter. Russ explained that he'd been at a job interview for a position as a mechanic on the evening in question. Brennan had been under the impression that the timing of the interview was due to the manager's limited availability, but Caroline saw things from another angle. When she asked how Russ got the interview in the first place, he hesitantly admitted that his father had arranged it. He tried to explain that the manager himself had apologized for requiring an evening interview, but Caroline quickly dismissed him from the stand.

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A lunch recess was called, and Booth was relieved that Brennan didn't argue about eating. They purchased their meals from a food stand near the courthouse and found a bench that was unoccupied. Brennan checked her phone for messages several times as they ate, and Booth quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Expecting a call?"

"Maybe. Clark went back to the lab to go over the evidence again. He said he'd let me know if he came up with anything useful," she explained. Booth nodded and started to reply, but he was interrupted by the appearance of Dr. Sweets. He seemed simultaneously nervous and excited.

"Yes?" Booth prompted him.

"I'm writing a book. Taking a clinical approach to efficacy and focused outcomes," Sweets began, fidgeting a little.

"And?"

"Well, if you're both agreeable, I'd like to study your partnership. It's an oddity of sorts, made even more complex by the fact that you're romantically involved. It shouldn't work, but it does. I want to figure out why."

"And write about it," Booth frowned thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"I don't get it," Booth said, addressing his wife.

"He wants to study us."

"Once a week, that's it," Sweets promised, but they were ignoring him.

"Now why would we want to do that?" Booth asked casually.

"I can't think of a good reason," Brennan smirked.

"Okay, see? That thing you do when you talk to each other while excluding the third party, namely me… It's an adaptive mechanism for disparate entities to bond together against their own individual impetuses to dissociate…" Sweets trailed off when he noticed their blank expressions.

"What does that mean for us?" Booth asked, once again focused on Brennan

"Nothing useful," she replied.

"Hmm… Tell you what, Bones. Why don't we make a deal with him where we allow him to study us, and in return, he gives us psychological profiling on demand."

"Okay," Sweets agreed eagerly.

"See? I just think he doesn't want to admit that he likes us," Booth grinned. Brennan smiled as well, finally turning to look at Sweets.

"Do you like us?" she teased.

"What?"

"And he wants to spend time with us," Booth added gloatingly.

"Is that true, Sweets? You _like_ us?"

"No…"

"Even I can tell he's lying," Brennan said, grinning at her husband. She joined Booth in a sing-songy taunt, and Sweets' face reddened slightly.

"Very mature, guys," he rolled his eyes and shuffled away. Booth and Brennan chuckled for a few moments more before returning to their meals. Booth appreciated the opportunity to see his wife smile about anything, particularly on a day like today.

"Are we really going to let him write a book about us?" he asked his wife.

"It's not like it would be a bestseller," she shrugged. "It'll be an academic publication."

"So basically, no one will read it?"

"I might. They might use it as a teaching tool at the Bureau, but they've already used some of our cases for that purpose at Quantico. It wouldn't really be anything new. Sweets already does profiling for us though," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but it usually depends on his availability rather than our needs. This would make him a real part of the team. I think he needs that."

"Because he's lonely?"

"Yeah, but also because we can always use more help. He's good at what he does. Good in the interrogation room too. Maybe that means we'll solve more cases than we would without him. Save more lives," he said quietly, echoing her logic from a few nights ago.

Brennan agreed with the plan as well as his reasoning, and as they finished their lunch, they were interrupted by someone else. They watched as Clark practically leapt up the stone steps and ran toward them. He held up a jewel case containing a compact disc.

"Dr. Brennan," he greeted her breathlessly. "I found something."

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Barron's cross-examinations began with Zack, and to the surprise of many, Barron requested that Clark be permitted to handle the questioning in his place. Caroline objected but was overruled. Clark used the small remote to display a photograph of the victim's skull, which had been discolored by red food dye. It wasn't permanent and posed no risk to the bones, but the coloration did reveal microfractures that Zack had somehow missed. The pattern indicated that the murder weapon had had a hilt of some sort. The copper pipe that Zack had believed to be the murder weapon had no hilt.

Barron attempted to have the entire case thrown out on the grounds that the prosecution had failed to produce the actual murder weapon, but Caroline argued that they should be granted a little time to locate it. The judge signed a search warrant for Booth and Brennan's home, but he warned Caroline that if nothing was found, Max would be a free man that very evening.

Since Booth couldn't very well conduct a search of his own home, the task was delegated to Charlie, and the younger agent showed up with Zack only a few minutes after Booth and Brennan got home. As the two men moved through the house in search of the likely murder weapon, Booth coaxed his wife into the living room to sit down.

"You doing okay?" he asked cautiously, noting the weariness in her eyes. She gave a noncommittal shrug.

"When it looked like my father might go free, I got…" she faltered, uncertain of her words. "This is very confusing for me."

"You like the idea of him beating the murder charge," Booth replied. She nodded contritely.

"I didn't think he really had a chance to get out of this, and now I'm afraid to even hope for it. Not to mention the fact that you and I put murderers away, and here I am wanting my father to get away with it."

"Okay, look. You're not Dr. Temperance Brennan today. You're Temperance. Tempe. Max's daughter. It's okay to want your father to come home instead of going to prison. The scientist part of you got sidelined...temporarily."

"I don't know what that means," she admitted, and he smiled as he always did at the familiar phrase.

"Bones, just… Take the _brain_ , and put it in neutral, okay? Take the _heart_ , and pop it into overdrive." He imitated a racecar driver accelerating loudly, and Brennan laughed at his antics. Booth felt a rush of warmth at the sound. He would never hesitate to make a fool out of himself if it meant making her laugh like that.

"Sometimes I think you're from another planet," she teased, still laughing.

"Just don't tell Hodgins," he grinned. They chuckled for a few moments longer, and Booth moved to sit next to her on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You have nothing to feel guilty about, baby. I'm an FBI agent, and I feel the same way about Max beating the rap. What's that say about _me_?"

Before Brennan could reply, Zack entered the room holding up a small dagger that was congruent with the murder weapon. It was a medieval dagger that had been on one of their shelves since they'd first moved in. Booth had constructed shelves in the living room and dining room to hold her extensive library as well as the collection of artifacts she'd previously displayed in her apartment. In fact, the available wall space in both rooms had been one of the reasons they'd chosen that particular house. Booth's cherished possessions were displayed throughout the house as well, but that hadn't been as important to him. He'd wanted it to feel like home for her.

"I don't remember ever seeing that dagger out of place," Brennan mused aloud as they drove back to the courthouse. "Do you?"

"No. Though to be honest, I'm not sure I would've noticed. Besides, there was a lot going on at that point."

"True. I can't believe it was right there in our house the whole time…" Brennan felt repulsed by the idea, much as she had felt in the days following Max's disappearance when she had scrubbed the kitchen floor repeatedly.

The rest of the day in court went similarly to the first day. Zack and Cam confirmed that the dagger was the actual murder weapon, and the defense was scheduled to start the proceedings for the following day. Brennan decided to bring Chinese takeout to the prison for dinner that evening, and Booth assured her that he wouldn't mind her absence. He opted to spend a few hours at the office, attempting to make some headway on the paperwork that had been piling up on his desk.

Brennan was only slightly surprised to see Clark in the visitation room along with her father, brother, and Barron. Her colleague looked nearly as disappointed as Brennan felt.

"Maybe I can discredit the weapon," Clark suggested, but the attorney was shaking his head.

"We're past forensics now. Now it's about the story. Jurors like to think they know what happened. We did a good job in showing that maybe Max didn't commit this murder, but we didn't give the jury a satisfying alternative. One that lets them go home to their families and say, 'Here's what really happened.'"

"They need a boogeyman, and it's Dad," Russ said irritably. Max gave his children a sad smile.

"Well, at least you guys will always know where to find me."

"What do you mean? On death row?" Russ asked incredulously, practically shouting. "You should have… You should have run, Dad. You should have just taken off."

"Dad stayed for me," Brennan defended. "He knew that if he ran, we'd never see each other again." She turned to Max, the full truth of her own words overwhelming her. "You stayed for me."

"I would've stayed here forever," Max nodded, his eyes misty. "It was worth every second we had together."

Brennan could see the sincerity in his features and hear it in his voice. This wasn't the smiling con man she could never bring herself to trust. This was her father. This was the man who had raised her, who'd taught her, who'd nurtured her… As the others continued to trade ideas and commiserations, Brennan found herself remembering the moments she'd had with Max since he had returned. Granted, at first she'd had no idea that he was keeping an eye on her, but he had helped Booth save her from Peter. He'd kept her safe from Delaney and Kirby. Even the few hours she'd spent with him while believing he was a priest…

Her train of thought derailed suddenly as she recalled the events of that very long day, but the scientist part of her brain was speeding ahead. Booth had told her to use her heart rather than her brain, but maybe she could help her father by using _both_.

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 **So, poor Brennan isn't coping so well, but things will get better of course. Off topic sort of, but does anyone know if that little song they sang at Sweets was scripted? It seems like a very random, David-and-Emily type of thing. Like the 'fan questions' thing at CC this year. That was hilarious. If you haven't seen it, you've gotta check it out. I'm sure there's a youtube video.**

 **Review because 'you liiiiike me, you really liiiike me.' ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Remember back in MTR when I had to fabricate a Christmas play to make the timeline of Kirby's death possible? Well, I'm finally posting the scene that made that necessary. Tsk, tsk, Bones writers. ;)**

 **Enjoy, and as always, thanks for the feedback! :)**

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Chapter 20

When Brennan returned home from the prison, the beginnings of a plan had formed in her mind. She wanted Booth's input, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to give him too many details. If this was going to work, she would need him to be caught off guard when Barron cross-examined him.

"Hey," he greeted her with a kiss. "How'd it go?"

"Everyone's disappointed at the moment, but…"

"But?" he prompted. Brennan pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully.

"If the truth can't be proven, is it still the truth?"

"Philosophy's not really your thing, baby," he teased her, unable to stop the smile on his face. She grinned a little and rolled her eyes.

"A theory isn't even really a theory until it's challenged. It's simply a hypothesis," she explained. "I don't believe a man should die based on a hypothesis, do you?"

"Bones, if you have a question, just ask it," Booth said gently, his previous amusement fading quickly.

"I have a way to lodge reasonable doubt in the jury." Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Booth responded.

"No perjury involved, just an interpretation of the facts?" he asked cautiously.

"An alternate story," she nodded. Booth was silent for a moment, knowing that they were treading on thin ice with the entire conversation.

"Juries are the human factor in a trial. You never know what they'll do."

"Do you think it's okay for me to take advantage of that?" Brennan asked. The way she phrased the question triggered something in his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Brain and heart, Bones. Brain and heart," he said quietly. She nodded in agreement and gave him a quick kiss of thanks. As she lay in bed that night, chasing sleep as had become her habit, she worried about Booth's reaction to her plan. She knew that he might be angry with her, but she was sure that he would tell the truth on the stand.

And in this case, the truth was exactly what was needed.

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Booth couldn't help but feel nervous as he watched Brennan speaking quietly to her father's attorney. He'd been in a courtroom with David Barron often enough in the past to recognize the confidence he saw in the man's features now. While he wanted his father-in-law to be acquitted, he also knew that he was first up on the witness stand today. This meant that, once again, Booth might be entirely accountable for the outcome of the trial, whether good or bad. It was precisely the type of situation he'd been hoping to avoid. Perhaps even more concerning was the look on Russ's face. He seemed to be stunned into silence. Brennan took her seat next to her husband as the bailiff announced the judge's entrance, and she gave Booth only a brief look of determination. Her expression did nothing to ease his mind.

The first round of questioning was surprisingly short, but when Booth left the stand, Barron reserved the right to call upon him again. Booth was forced to admit that there were actually two other people, in addition to Max, who could have transferred the particulates from the seminary to both of the other locations. One was himself, and the other was his wife. Booth became increasingly more uncomfortable with Barron's tactics, particularly when he called Brennan to the stand next. She promptly admitted that she had been at the seminary as well as in their home on the day of Kirby's murder. She also identified the murder weapon as a relic that belonged to her, and Booth felt his blood pressure rising steadily.

Brennan traded places on the stand with Sweets, and when she reached her seat, her husband was staring at her with accusation and incredulity in his eyes. He would've loved to interrogate her then and there, but Barron was now asking Sweets for his professional opinion about Brennan.

"Dr. Brennan is hyper-rational. She's capable of rationalizing almost anything," Sweets said bracingly.

"Including murder," Barron supplied.

"It is the danger of the totally rational human being," he admitted reluctantly. His eyes flickered to Brennan apologetically, and she gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. Booth was squeezing her hand so tightly that she'd lost sensation in her fingertips.

"What the hell are you doing?" he whispered in her ear. She looked at him then, her eyes pleading with him to stay the course.

"Just tell the truth," she implored him. Booth shook his head involuntarily, trying to see a way out of the predicament.

His head was a mess. _Can I really let her take the fall for Max?_ Even if she didn't end up being charged with the crime, Brennan was putting her reputation on the line, and he hated the thought of the justice system pitting him against his own wife. He was still waffling back and forth in his mind when his name was called once again. Booth rose stiffly from his seat with one last questioning look at Brennan. Her eyes were still pleading.

"Did Dr. Brennan have motive to murder Robert Kirby?" Barron began. Booth sighed in disgust.

"Yes, she had motive. Kirby tried to kill her brother."

"Thank you," the attorney replied kindly, but Booth was unwilling to let him have the last word.

"Bones was with me all day." To his surprise, Barron actually smiled as though he'd been given a gift.

"She didn't have time to commit this murder?"

"No, she did not."

"Hmm. Did you attend your son's school Christmas play that evening, Agent Booth?" Barron asked almost casually. Booth tensed and looked at Brennan again.

"Yes," he answered grudgingly.

"And since Dr. Brennan is your wife, did she attend the play as well?"

"No," Booth practically growled. "We were apart for forty-five minutes at most."

"Plenty of time then, wasn't it, Agent Booth?" Barron prompted. Booth locked eyes with his wife, easily comprehending the message in them. _Tell the truth._ The words she'd chosen the night before crossed his mind again, and he now knew what had been odd about them. ' _Do you think it's okay_ for me _to take advantage of that?'_ The judge ordered him to answer the question, but Booth ignored him as well as the attorney for a moment longer.

"That's a lot of heart, Bones," he told her, his voice thick with emotion. Her beautiful blue eyes shimmered back at him, begging him to see this through. With a hollow feeling in his stomach, he addressed Barron again.

"Could Bones have killed Kirby?" Booth asked rhetorically, shaking his head at the mere idea of his wife committing a murder. "My wife is an incredible woman. I've worked with her, I've stood over death with her, I've built a life with her. A family. And Sweets, he's brilliant. He is. But he's wrong. She could not have done this."

"I didn't ask you your opinion of Dr. Brennan's character. I asked you if she had _time_ ," Barron insisted. Booth shared another long, loaded glance with his wife and sighed in defeat.

"Yes, she had time."

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"Thank you," Brennan told him as they waited outside for the jury to return.

"No," he said abruptly, pulling her into his arms. He hugged her tightly, ignoring the strangers who weaved around them as they stood on the steps of the courthouse.

Brennan didn't attempt to pull away, instead opting to wrap her arms around his waist and squeeze him back. She still felt slightly ill as she buried her face in his shoulder. She had expected him to be angry with her, of course. Brennan had recognized the emotions in his eyes even from across the courtroom, and she'd known he would be unhappy with her. She'd effectively used his sense of honor in order to get her father off of a murder charge. She tried not to think of how angry she would be if the situation were reversed.

The longer he held her, the more grounded she felt, and his familiar scent soothed her anxiety. Her presence calmed him as well, at least to the point that he felt he could speak to her without raising his voice.

"You will never do that again," he told her, his voice low and authoritative. She finally pulled back enough to see his face.

"I'm sorry. There wasn't another-"

"I understand why you did it," Booth interrupted. "But _please_ … Bones, please don't ever put me in that kind of position again. Promise me." His gaze bored into her, waiting for her to speak the words he needed to hear.

"I promise."

"Thank you." He held her close again, cherishing the feel of her in his arms. He was simultaneously proud of her and angry with her, and it was an odd feeling. His mind was moving a hundred miles an hour in all directions, trying to consider every possible repercussion of her actions. If the jury came back with a 'not guilty' verdict, Booth wasn't sure how Caroline would handle it. There was no evidence to convict his wife, of course, but did that mean that Caroline wouldn't try to charge her with the murder anyway? Kirby had been a Deputy Director at the FBI. Would the Bureau really just let it go? Worse still was the possibility that Max might still be found guilty in spite of Brennan's efforts. He knew that it would destroy her.

They eventually released their hold on one another and sat together on the white stone steps. Neither of them spoke, but their hands remained clasped together while they waited for word from the jury. Booth's phone buzzed with a text from Cam some thirty minutes later, and Brennan read it with him.

"Can we just wait out here?" she asked hopefully, almost whispering. "I don't know if I can stand there and listen if they decided he's guilty. I don't want to watch them take him away."

"Of course." Booth texted back that they would be waiting out front, and Brennan laid her head on his shoulder. Booth pressed his lips to the top of her head before resting his cheek against it, and they fell silent once more as they continued to wait.

Several minutes later, they looked over their shoulders at the sound of familiar voices approaching. They stood up, and Brennan hugged Angela tightly. She hadn't been present for the reading of the verdict, and the three of them watched nervously as Sweets and Caroline appeared, their expressions giving away nothing.

Brennan's face lit up when she spotted the next familiar face. Her father was walking toward her, and his obvious relief made him look ten years younger. Brennan's own feeling of relief made her almost lightheaded, and she smiled back at him with watery eyes. Although the few times they'd hugged when she'd visited him over the past year had been somewhat awkward, she made no attempt to leave the protective circle of his arms this time. She clung to him tightly, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she watched Booth over Max's shoulder.

Booth smiled back at her, but his attention was half-focused on Sweets and Caroline. He could overhear their conversation, and he grinned even wider when Caroline said that she wouldn't be charging Brennan with anything.

"You gotta go back to school on this one," Caroline told Sweets in her cool, Southern drawl. "That's a fine woman there."

Booth couldn't agree more.

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After much deliberation, Max decided to accept his daughter's invitation to spend a week or so in her guest room. With no job and little money to speak of, he was forced to rely on his children for a few articles of normal clothing and some personal items. Max attempted to refuse their generosity, but neither Brennan nor Russ wanted him to revert to his prior means of acquiring what he needed.

"You know you can stay as long as you need to, Dad," Brennan told him after she had helped him settle into the guest room.

"I appreciate that, Honey, but you and Booth have busy lives. You don't need me underfoot for any longer than necessary," Max smiled, following her downstairs. Booth had thrown a few things together for lunch before retreating to their home office to finish some paperwork, and their meal awaited them on the table.

"Well… What will you do then? You don't have a job-"

"I'll find one. A _legal_ one," he promised, understanding the undertone of her question. She didn't want him to get by on theft and cleverness anymore.

"Okay, well… I can help with an apartment, even a car of some sort." But Max was shaking his head adamantly.

"Tempe, don't you think you've done enough for your old man?"

"It's no bother; I can easily afford to-"

"I know that, but I won't take anything else from you. I've taken enough," he muttered, avoiding her eyes guiltily as he pushed his food around his plate a little.

"What does that mean?" Brennan asked, her brow furrowed.

"You risked a lot for me today, Tempe. If I'd known what you were planning, I'd have called off the whole thing and changed my plea."

"There wasn't time to tell you. It all happened very quickly, but I don't regret what I did. It wasn't anything you took from me; it was freely given."

"Yeah, but I didn't deserve it. I would _never_ have asked that of you," he insisted. Brennan was flummoxed. She thought she'd done the right thing, but apparently both her husband _and_ her father disagreed. Her confusion must've been evident on her face, because Max's own features softened. "Don't think I'm not grateful, because I've never been more thankful than I am right now. But after everything I've put you through over the years, I didn't deserve the kind of favor you did for me today. You put your reputation, your job, maybe even your freedom on the line for me, and you shouldn't have. I'm not worth that."

Brennan sighed and focused on her own food for a moment while she tried to think of an appropriate response. Although she was now confident that none of the things he'd listed were at risk, she certainly hadn't known that when she'd made the decision to put herself on the line. It had been a risk, yes, but she'd decided that it was one she was willing to take if it meant saving her father's life. What kind of daughter - what kind of _person_ \- would she be if she weren't willing to do whatever it took to help him?

"I'll be right back," she said softly, rising from the table and climbing the stairs quickly. He looked surprised by her sudden departure but said nothing. Booth was at the large wooden desk in their home office, and he looked up when she entered.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. Just some things I need to clear up with my dad."

Booth watched curiously as she pulled a King James Bible from the bookshelf and retrieved her foster care file from the safe. Before he could question her, however, she left the room. He sat in contemplation for a few moments before eventually creeping down the stairs as quietly as possible. This was bound to be an emotional conversation for his wife, and he wanted to be nearby in case she needed him.

Max frowned in confusion when he saw her return, but his bewilderment quickly turned to revulsion when he realized what she was holding. Although the sight of his daughter holding a Bible was intriguing, it was the other object in her hands that upset him.

"I don't want to see that," he told her, shaking his head insistently. He didn't need a reminder of what that file contained. The words that described the hell she'd survived as a teenager, the photographs of her broken body and spirit… His fight or flight response was so immediate that he actually pushed his chair back from the table in an effort to put more distance between himself and that file.

"I'm not going to make you look at it," Brennan replied, seeing him relax minutely. He watched warily as she thumbed through the Bible. " _The revenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer; when he meeteth him, he shall slay him,"_ she read aloud. Brennan looked up from the book to scrutinize his face. "You told Booth and I that this passage was the only Bible verse you knew. While I understand that that comment was most likely a hyperbole to prove a point, I also know that these words describe your personal doctrine very well. You believe in 'an eye for an eye' and 'making things right.'"

Max looked slightly pained by her words, but he remained silent as he watched her pull a single sheet of paper from inside the front cover of the file. Brennan slid it over to him, and he stiffened as he read the list of names. His eyes darted to hers, uncertain of what she might say next.

"Last summer, I was invited to be the keynote speaker at a conference at Northwestern. Booth and I spent a few days in Chicago, and when we were out for dinner one evening, we ran into a woman who had once shared a room with me in one my foster homes. She sat and talked to us for a few minutes and eventually got around to telling me that our former foster father had been found dead a few months previously. He'd been murdered, and his body had been set on fire.

"My initial reaction was simply shock, but as more details were revealed, I realized how similar that crime scene was in comparison to the one on the hotel rooftop. I wasn't sure at first whether or not I really wanted to know if you'd been the one responsible, but I eventually came to the realization that if I didn't look into it, I would always wonder. I'd hoped that getting an answer would at least give me some peace of mind, even if it didn't turn out to be the answer I hoped to find." Brennan took a breath to steady herself.

"Tempe-"

"No, let me finish, please," she interrupted. When he nodded reluctantly, she continued, "Before leaving Chicago, Booth and I managed to get the details on Taylor's murder as well as the death of another of my foster parents, James Hammel. Taylor sexually abused the girls in his care, and he was castrated before his body was set on fire. Hammel died in a house fire around the same time as Taylor, though Hammel's death was ruled an accident… And I might have simply believed that if it hadn't been for the circumstances I endured in his home. He was physically abusive, but he was always careful to leave no evidence of it.

"Maybe I should've let it go at that point since both sets of remains were cremated and there was no way to prove anything in either case… But I wanted to know. I _needed_ to know. So when Booth and I came home, we started looking into the rest of the names on that list. We found another 'accidental' death and a suicide amongst them, though both of those men died years ago. Once again, the circumstances for both had peculiar similarities to the things I experienced as a teenager.

"Booth is fond of saying that there are no coincidences in a murder investigation. I know he talked to you last Christmas, and although the conversation was cryptic, he thinks that you basically admitted to…to killing those men. By that point, though, it didn't matter as much. I had already decided to forgive you, not just for the terrible things you'd done in an effort to keep me safe, but also for leaving me in the first place. I'd realized that carrying the metaphorical weight of it was a detriment to my emotional welfare, so I did my best to let it go. It was certainly a slow process, but I was eventually able to move on.

"You say that I shouldn't have put myself at risk for your sake because you don't deserve it or because you'd never have asked me to do so… But what you're forgetting is that I never asked you to kill for me. I _would never_ have asked that of anyone, least of all you. As an anthropologist, I understand your logic, and as a parent, I understand your love. What I did for you is _nothing_ in comparison to what you've done for me. No matter the consequences or how much I might disagree with your actions, you did those things because you loved me. And I did what I did, because _I_ love _you._ "

Max stared back at his daughter with love and amazement as several tears spilled from his eyes. No matter how many things he'd done in attempt to assuage his guilt, he still wasn't sure he would ever feel deserving of her forgiveness. He stood abruptly and pulled Brennan to her feet, wrapping her in a tight hug that he was pleased to feel her return.

"I love you so much, Temperance. There aren't words to measure it. I will never regret anything as much as I regret leaving you and Russ behind. I know nothing I do will ever really make that right, and I know I don't deserve to be forgiven for that. But I will never stop trying to be the father you deserve."

"You already are," Brennan sniffled against his shoulder. She pulled back to look at him through watery eyes. "There _is_ something you can do for me to make it right."

"Name it," he said quickly.

"Change. No more stealing, no more killing, no more running. Obey the law. Be around for your family. Be a good role model for your grandchildren. That's all Russ and I need from you. It's all we'll ever need."

"You have my word," Max said solemnly. Brennan nodded and tried to compose herself.

"And let me buy you a car," she added with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

"We'll see," Max grumbled playfully. His eyes shifted to a spot just over Brennan's shoulder, and he raised his voice slightly. "You can come in now, Booth." Brennan turned to see her husband step into the room, looking a little sheepish.

"I see where she gets her stubbornness from," Booth joked, smiling softly at his wife.

"Her mother was worse," Max assured him, extending his arm to shake Booth's hand. "You've certainly got your work cut out for you." The two men grinned conspiratorially at one another as Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Tell me about it."

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Max spent the following weekend getting to know his son-in-law as well as his new grandson. Parker was thrilled to see Max again, particularly since Max didn't have quite as much trouble keeping up with him as Hank usually did. Rebecca's parents lived too far away for Parker to see them more than a few times a year, and the little boy was definitely eager for more grandparents.

Brennan felt at peace for the first time in months. Although she still carried some residual fatigue, her sleep was untroubled by nightmares. When she climbed into bed on Sunday evening, her husband greeted her with a wide smile.

"Did you have a good weekend?" he asked, folding her against his chest.

"Very good," she smiled. "Did you?"

"Yeah. Parker did too. I almost felt a little bad for your dad earlier. He looked exhausted. Parker certainly wore him out." They chuckled in unison, and Brennan snuggled closer, inhaling the wonderful scent of him that made her feel safe and loved. He had chosen to sleep without a shirt, and she couldn't resist the urge to press her lips to his warm skin. As usual, it was impossible to only kiss him once. "Be careful what you start, Dr. Brennan. We have a guest," he warned, watching her lips move steadily upward. She left a line of kisses from his chest all the way to his jaw, stopping only to whisper in his ear.

"I can be quiet if you can, Agent Booth."

"You seriously want to have sex with your dad right down the hall?"

"You just finished saying that he was exhausted," Brennan reminded him with a smirk, her hands caressing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Booth groaned softly.

"So I did," he grinned, flipping her onto her back so quickly that she gasped in surprise. Their mouths connected in a heated kiss as his hands worked to rid her of her pajamas. Brennan was fairly certain she heard the sound of fabric tearing as he removed her panties.

She gripped his shoulders as his tongue invaded her mouth and his fingertips found the wetness between her thighs. He stroked her deeply and skillfully, his lips moving from her mouth to her breast just as she reached the peak. She cried out softly, her fingers twisting themselves into his short hair as she held him.

"I need you, Booth. Inside. _Please_ ," she whimpered. Booth sank into her, gazing into her eyes as he filled her, and they moaned in unison at the delicious sensation.

They moved as one, their bodies surging together in a perfect dance that was both familiar and instinctive. Brennan clasped her legs around his hips, urging him deeper and harder with each thrust.

"Come again for me, baby," he pled. Booth was beyond the point of caring whether or not their activities were overheard. "You're so close; I can feel it."

"Yes," she groaned, clawing his back lightly as her release overwhelmed her.

Booth cried out at the exquisite way she clenched and spasmed around him, finding his own release only a moment later. He collapsed into her, and Brennan wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, relishing in the heady feelings of his weight on top of her and the pulsations within her.

"I thought I was supposed to be the loud one," Brennan teased, pouting a little when he finally slipped from her warmth.

"I'm sure he's asleep. Besides, even if he's not… _he owes me._ "

"How's that?"

"I guess you've forgotten what happened when I arrested him," Booth grunted. "Wish _I_ could forget."

"Oh, right," Brennan grinned apologetically, belatedly recalling the punch her father had delivered to Booth's groin.

"At least _I'm_ not the 'eye for an eye' type," he smirked. "So really, hearing us have sex should be the lesser evil."

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Max agreed to stay with them for another week while he looked for a job in DC, but he insisted that they not go out of their way to entertain him. He also surprised them with breakfast bright and early on Monday morning. Brennan made her way downstairs first, but her smile of gratitude was quickly replaced by a look of alarm. The scent of sizzling bacon turned her stomach, and she dashed into the small half bathroom. It was only dry heaves, since her stomach was empty, but she felt drained and exhausted when she finally stood up to splash water on her face. When at last she felt it was safe to return to the kitchen, she did her best to breathe through her mouth.

"You okay?" Max asked in concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," she waved him off. "Breakfast looks great, Dad. You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I figure it's the least I can do. If nothing else, Booth will appreciate it. I suppose you're still in the habit of skipping breakfast?"

"How do you know that?" she frowned.

"You were never big on eating first thing in the morning, Tempe. Your mother practically had to bribe you to eat a bowl of cereal every now and then."

"Not much has changed then," Booth announced as he entered the kitchen, pausing to kiss his wife. "Looks great, Max. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he replied with a friendly smile.

 _Hmm,_ Booth mused, _Guess he didn't hear us last night._

"I've actually coaxed her into eating breakfast with me a few times a week, but it's a battle hard won," Booth said, winking at Brennan. She rolled her eyes predictably.

"I need to head to the lab. I'll see you both later." Brennan kissed Max's cheek and planted a much longer one on her husband's lips. Max was clearing his throat meaningfully by the time they separated.

The day went fairly smoothly for both partners, though their jobs didn't bring them together until well after dark. Remains had been discovered in the process of mowing an overgrowth of Johnson grass on the side of a rural highway. Unfortunately, the highway maintenance worker had run over the body with the mower before realizing something was wrong.

Booth was beset by repetitive sneezing and other symptoms of hayfever almost from the moment they stepped out of the SUV. Brennan frowned at him in concern as she slipped into her jumpsuit and grabbed her kit from the back.

"Are you alright?" she asked, handing him a handkerchief. Booth was rarely sick, and she wasn't aware that he had any allergies.

"Yeah," _sneeze_ "I'm f-" _sneeze_.

"Maybe you should stay in the car?" Brennan suggested. Booth shook his head but was unable to stop sneezing long enough to respond verbally. "Okay," she shrugged, making a mental note to stop for an antihistamine on the way home.

Brennan ended up being almost thankful that Booth was distracted by his allergic reaction to what the highway maintenance man informed them was Johnson grass. It kept her husband distracted enough that he didn't notice her unexpected reaction to the overpowering stench of decomposition. She turned her head away for a moment, vainly seeking a little fresh air and hoping to hide her discomfort from her co-workers. Cam was focused on the body and didn't seem to notice Brennan's odd behavior.

They worked the scene quickly, determining that the remains belonged to a male in his twenties who had been dead for a couple of weeks. The blade of the large mower had severed the victim's head. Once the body was on its way to the lab, Booth and Brennan returned home to find Max lounging on the sofa with one of Brennan's novels.

He greeted them with a smile that quickly turned into a frown of concern. Booth was still sneezing, and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. Brennan had driven them home, and Booth had been so overcome by his symptoms that he hadn't had the will to bicker over it. She guided him toward the kitchen and fished the bottle of diphenhydramine from the plastic bag she carried on her arm.

"Take two of these," she instructed, filling a glass with water and handing it to him. He swallowed the pills obediently between sneezes. "They'll make you tired, so why don't you go take a shower to get the pollen off of you before bed, okay?" Booth nodded and shuffled toward the stairs. "Keep your clothes separate too. I'll put them in the washer tonight."

"Thanks, baby," he said through a stuffy nose. Max watched the exchange with a slightly humored expression.

"Allergies, huh?"

"Yes. The body was found by a highway mower in a patch of Johnson grass," Brennan sighed, falling into the loveseat with her eyes closed. "Why are you reading my book?"

"It's my favorite one," he replied brightly. She pulled her eyelids back open to look at him, noticing that he was holding her personal copy of Bred in the Bone. "I was so proud of you the first time I saw it in a bookstore. I bought a copy and read it in less than two days. It was certainly easier to follow than the other things you'd published," Max chuckled.

"That was my first book," Brennan said, confused.

"I mean your academic publications," he clarified. "Your dissertations and theses."

"How many of them did you read?"

"All of them." Max grinned at her affectionately, and Brennan felt stunned at the revelation. It had never occurred to her that anyone outside of her field of study would ever read her professional publications.

"Wow," she said softly. Max shrugged good-naturedly.

"It was a way to connect with you at a time when I had no other way to do so. It was nice."

"Thanks, Dad." She smiled gently, still a little awed by the information. She'd gone through high school and college without the benefit of having a family to praise her for doing well. The absence of that praise had weighed heavily on her for years. To find out now that her father had not only kept up with her progress but had read her scholarly work as well… It was vindicating in a way, and it left her with a warm feeling in the center of her chest.

"Why don't you go to bed too, Tempe. You look exhausted." Max chuckled as she tried to stifle a yawn even as he spoke the words.

"I think I will," she nodded. "Goodnight, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too, Sweetheart." He accepted a kiss on the cheek and watched her disappear up the stairs.

Max was still in awe of how far his daughter had come over the last few years. When he'd come back to DC with the intent of allowing himself to be arrested, his relationship with his children had been rocky at best. Russ had grudgingly accepted his help and advice during the months he'd spent in hiding, but Brennan had found it difficult to even look her father in the face.

He knew that change was difficult for her; she'd always been that way. However, the differences he saw in her now made him simultaneously proud and melancholy. His pride in her achievements, both personal and professional, prevailed above all, but he was also a little sad at the realization that he needed to get to know her all over again. Traces of the little girl he'd raised were still there, of course, but she was a completely different person than the one he and his wife had left behind all those years ago.

It felt like they were getting their new start now, and Max would forever be grateful for the privilege of being a part of her life.

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 **Ah, closure. Mostly. ;) As I've said before, this has never really been about what Max did or didn't do. It's about Brennan's personal journey. But if it really matters to anyone - Yes, he did kill all four. To have any evidence of it, however, would have obligated BB to report it.**

 **Holy crap, only two more to go! Review pretty pretty please. :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter. :) Many of you were right on point with your suspicions. I enjoyed writing this chapter and the next, aside from having to write Crazy Pam and the drama she brings.**

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Chapter 21

Booth and Brennan spent the majority of the following day interviewing people who had known the most recent victim. The team had identified the man as a fitness and music enthusiast named Tommy Sour, and the first order of business was to check out his home. No one answered Tommy's door, but the next door neighbor, Adam Matthews, was able to answer a few of their questions.

Matthews was an artist, dabbling in painting as well as sculpting, and it had been he who had reported Tommy as a missing person. His chief complaint was the irritating intrusion of Tommy's alarm clock, which had apparently been going off constantly over the last two weeks. The man was visibly frazzled by the constant noise.

With a little prompting from Booth, Matthews informed them that Tommy had been a trainer at Valera Wellness and that one of his clients had been stalking him. Tommy had referred to the woman as 'Fat Pam,' and he had definitely not returned her affections. Booth and Brennan thanked the man for the information and decided to try their luck at the wellness center next.

The owner of Valera Wellness was Dr. Jason Bergman, and although he seemed surprised at the news of his employee's death, he didn't appear to be very upset about it. When Booth asked about a client of Tommy's named Pam, he informed them that the woman's last name was Nunan and that she had been infatuated with Tommy. She had touched him inappropriately, followed him around town, and had even invited him on a Caribbean cruise.

Using the contact information provided by Dr. Bergman, Booth got in touch with Pam Nunan and asked her to come to the Hoover. He and Brennan had a quick lunch in his office and were cleaning up after themselves when Pam knocked on the door. She greeted Booth warmly and regarded Brennan with wary dislike. She'd brought along a photo album full of pictures of the victim, and Booth flipped through it curiously, quickly understanding the nature of the photographs.

"These pictures are… They're taken from quite a distance, Pam," he said cautiously.

"He's so shy," Pam gushed. "It's one of the things I love about him." Booth shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the album again. Each picture had clearly been taken without Tommy's knowledge, but the woman's demeanor was somewhat disarming.

"We understand Tommy was your personal trainer?" Brennan prompted.

"Oh, he was so much more than that. Before I met Tommy, I was so down on myself. But Tommy…" she shook her head with a dreamy look in her eyes. "He's such a sweetheart."

"Does Tommy share your affection?" Brennan asked, feeling a little awkward.

"Why do you ask it like that?" Pam frowned in disgust. "If he didn't love me, why would he want to marry me?"

"Marry you?" Booth asked in disbelief. "He was going to marry you?"

"Tommy's my _life_ ," she replied fervently. "And I'm his. Whatever you think he'd done, I know he didn't do it."

"We're not worried about what he did. It's what _you_ might have done," Brennan clarified. Pam looked back and forth between them in confusion.

"Tommy's dead," Booth explained. Pam's eyes widened, and she appeared to be genuinely surprised by the information. "Look, I'd like to move you to a private room, if that's alright. I have some more questions for you."

"Of course," Pam answered, still dazed. "I'll… I'll help in any way I can."

Booth led her to the interrogation room and told her he would be back. When he returned to his office, Brennan was on the phone with Zack. He was reporting an odd finding on the C5. The anterior of the bone was slightly shaved, as though by a cheese slicer. He was in the process of looking for a more likely weapon.

"I'm gonna pull in Sweets on this one," Booth announced when she ended the call. "That woman is obviously a Class A stalker, not to mention completely delusional."

"I'm inclined to agree. She seems genuine, but everyone who knows her has an entirely different opinion about her relationship with the victim."

"I think you should observe this time around." When her brow furrowed, he hurried to explain. "She seems uncomfortable with you; it's probably just her insecurities. I need her to open up."

"Alright," she nodded, feeling reasonably mollified. "Should we go get Sweets?"

"Not yet. I'm going to let her sit in there for a while."

Brennan had become quite familiar with that technique, and she spent most of her time on the phone with the lab while she waited for Booth to green-light the interrogation. Sweets met her in the observation room, and they watched Pam through the glass for a few minutes.

"So?" Brennan prompted. "What do you think?"

"She has body image issues," Sweets began by stating the obvious, "which are not congruent with her actual appearance. She's someone who is slightly large, who believes she's a _very_ large woman that can convince people she's only slightly large. And the way people treat her convinces her that she's right."

Brennan shook her head at his muddled explanation, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She wondered absently if increased exposure to Sweets and his psycho-babble might have permanent effects on her sanity. Sweets sighed at her disinterest.

"Alright… She's sorting her trail mix," Sweets stated, watching Pam separate the tiny pieces into separate piles.

"That means something?"

"She's nervous. She's trying to control a situation that's out of her control."

"Or she's just bored," Brennan retorted. "She's been waiting almost an hour."

Before Sweets could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened, and Booth greeted Pam with an apology for her long wait. She replied that she had indeed gotten bored, hence the trail mix sorting. Brennan smiled gloatingly at Sweets.

"I believe that you loved Tommy," Booth said as he took the seat across from Pam. She thanked him before he added, "But I don't believe he loved you back."

"Because I'm not anorexic?" she challenged.

"Ms. Nunan…"

"Call me Pam," she encouraged in a soft voice. She seemed to be intent on keeping her eyes wide open, as though hoping to convey an impression of innocence or virtue.

"Pam," Booth rephrased, looking uncomfortable. "You were stalking him. And he was avoiding you." She became flustered and thrust her arm out toward him, flashing a charm bracelet that was fastened around her wrist. The charms spelled out her name.

"If he didn't love me, why would he give me this for Christmas?"

"What did you give him before he gave you that bracelet?" Booth asked carefully. Sweets grinned in approval of the question. Pam admitted that she had given him a thousand dollar gift certificate to The Music Centre. Sweets was nodding enthusiastically, and he explained to Brennan that such an extravagant gift was Pam's passive-aggressive way of obligating Tommy to try to force an emotional connection. Pam went on to explain that Tommy had been a gifted singer, and that she had wanted to support his dream of singing professionally.

Pam turned out to have a solid alibi for the time of Tommy's death. Her parents confirmed that she had been visiting them in Florida at the time for the purpose of planning her wedding to Tommy. The couple had obviously believed their daughter's version of her love story with Tommy. As Booth left the interrogation room, Pam voiced a concern that no one would ever love her again, and he patted her shoulder with awkward compassion. The very brief contact brought about a complete change in Pam's demeanor. She looked calm, even happy, as she thanked him.

Sweets pounced on the exchange the moment Booth entered the observation room.

"You shouldn't have touched her," he said immediately. Both partners looked confused.

"Why not?" Brennan asked.

"Transference. The pathology is clear. She's possessive and amoral. Her emotional connections are forged through manipulation and delusion. Once a connection that tenuous breaks-"

"So you think she killed him?" Brennan interrupted.

"I can't say that, of course, but she _is_ a dangerous person." Booth and Brennan exchanged a dubious glance, and Sweets continued insistently, "Just be cautious of her, okay? She's not stable." Booth nodded and shooed him from the room.

"Cam needs me at the lab," Brennan said, reading a text on her phone.

"Alright. I'll let you know if I find out anything else. If not, I'll see you around...five?"

"Seven?" she bargained. She hadn't been to the lab all morning, and she was sure that things had piled up.

"Six," Booth declared firmly. Brennan smiled and nodded in defeat. She gave him a quick kiss goodbye and was gone.

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Despite Booth's best efforts, it ended up being a late night for both of them. The team had managed to track down the name of the piano bar where the victim had frequently performed, and they happened to be holding their 'Open Mic Night' that evening. Booth was less than impressed by the various patrons of the Checkerbox who were brave enough to take the stage, but Brennan was easier to please. As usual, she had a lesson on human nature at the ready, and she rattled on about the primal human need for acclaim and recognition.

Booth and Brennan questioned Tommy's primary rival, the manager of the bar, and a gentleman who was posing as a talent scout. By the end of the evening, Booth was certain that the latter two men had no connection to Tommy Sour's death, but he decided to withhold judgment on the victim's rival, Chris Calabasa.

As they left the Checkerbox, Booth felt the familiar tingle of intuition raise the hair on the back of his neck. They were being watched. He glanced cautiously up and down the crowded street, but nothing stood out to him. He placed a hand on the small of Brennan's back and escorted her to the passenger side of the SUV. She looked at him inquiringly, but he shook his head, waiting until they were both ensconced in the vehicle before answering her silent question.

"Feels like we're being watched," he explained. "I didn't see anything out of place, but…"

"There are a lot of cars and pedestrians," she reasoned. "Let's just go. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. How about the diner? They have cherry pie today." His voice took on a playful lilt, and she rolled her eyes at his teasing but couldn't stifle her grin. Booth smiled back and brought her hand to his lips. "Just kidding."

"The diner is fine," Brennan nodded, her stomach rumbling a little at the promise of french fries.

Booth listened somewhat passively as his wife continued her sociology lecture, but his attention was diverted when she ordered her meal. She'd asked for a plate of french fries and nothing else.

"What, no salad?" he asked, frowning. She shrugged indifferently.

"I wanted fries."

"Yeah, but usually you just steal mine," Booth reminded her. Brennan grinned and swiped a fry from his plate, holding his gaze as she took a bite.

Oddly enough, when the waitress placed Booth's pie in front of him, Brennan was visited by a bizarre compulsion to steal a bite of that too. She stopped herself before actually reaching across the table with her fork, feeling thoroughly confused with herself. It was strange that she'd even had the thought at all. _I hate pie,_ she mused, her forehead creased slightly. Booth was focused on devouring his dessert, and Brennan was glad that he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary about her behavior. He'd never have let her live it down.

"So Max decided to stay another week?" Booth asked.

"Yes. He's been looking for a job."

"Well, I can't imagine too many employers are eager to hire someone with his record and employment history. It's not like he can go back to being a science teacher. It may take him a while to find something."

"True," she replied, her eyes slightly distant as she mulled over his words. "I feel a little guilty leaving him at home while we've been working late nights for this case. I know he said not to worry about entertaining him, but I'm sure he's very bored."

"Max will be fine, Bones. I'm glad he agreed to stay a little longer though. It's good for you guys to have some time together."

Booth's phone rang from the pocket of his green canvas jacket, and he answered it in his typical manner in spite of not recognizing the number on the screen. It was Pam Nunan, and she wanted to meet at his office to discuss Tommy Sour. Booth agreed and told her that he and Brennan could be there in a half hour, but she insisted that he come alone. Booth was slightly unnerved by the request, but it wasn't the first time that a person of interest had been uncomfortable around his wife.

"What'd she want?" Brennan asked when he ended the call.

"She wants to see me. Without you."

"Did she say why?"

"Probably because you make her a little uncomfortable," Booth said gently.

"How so?"

"Well, because… You're you," he smiled. "You're a well-adjusted woman." It was true; Brennan was intimidating in more ways than one.

"You're okay with going alone?"

"Yeah, it's alright," he shrugged. "Why don't you go home and spend some time with Max, okay?"

Brennan agreed with his suggestion, and the two parted ways. Booth arrived at the Hoover a few minutes before Pam, and he escorted her politely into his office.

"I really appreciate you seeing me," Pam told him, her expression sweet and warm.

"Well, it's my job," Booth replied with a shrug, circling to the other side of his desk so that there was a little more space between them. Something about his answer amused her, because her eyes twinkled as she laughed.

"That's precious; it's your 'job.'"

"You said you had information about the-"

"Hockey fan!" Pam grinned, pointing enthusiastically at the large framed photograph hanging behind his desk. "I have that same print in my office. And it's Pam," she encouraged. "I have season tickets to the Capitals; we should go sometime." Booth gazed back at her perplexedly and decided it would be best to get the meeting over with as quickly as possible.

"...Ms. Nunan, about the case-"

"Seeley, please. _Pam._ ...I need to ask you something." Her smile became slightly more coy in nature, and Booth's frown deepened.

"Okay, well usually I ask the questions-"

"Are you dating Dr. Brennan?" Pam asked haltingly. Her smile had faded, and she looked almost afraid to hear the answer.

"We're married," Booth replied, feeling even more uncomfortable. The woman's efforts to flirt with him weren't necessarily over the top, and it was certainly nothing he hadn't dealt with before. In fact, her mannerisms were somewhat ambiguous. On the surface, she seemed like a very polite and sweet-natured woman, but every time he spoke to her, Booth felt his discomfort increasing. Pam was practically scowling at the information that he was married to his partner, but the gleam of determination hadn't left her eyes.

"How long?"

"Almost a year," Booth said reluctantly. Pam's eyes shifted to a picture frame on the shelf behind him, and her brows lifted curiously.

"Your nephew?" Her tone was almost hopeful.

"My son," he replied, shifting to block her view of Parker's picture. _This has gone far enough._ "Listen, I'm kind of busy here, Ms. Nunan."

"I brought you something," Pam interrupted again, smiling sycophantically. She pulled a small gift back from her large purse and held it out to him. He took it reluctantly, careful not to touch her this time, and peeked inside. She'd gotten him a few pairs of socks. "I noticed you've got a thing for socks," she explained.

"How did you, uh…"

"I noticed them last time. On the outside, you're this big, tough FBI guy… But really you're just like me. Unpredictable. Like Tommy was."

"...Please…" Booth felt completely out of his element, and Sweets' previous warnings were echoing in his mind. If he'd been right about Pam Nunan being dangerous, Booth certainly didn't want to offend her by rejecting the gift, but neither did he want to encourage her by accepting it. He put the gift back down on the desk and attempted to bring the conversation around to the matter at hand. "Ms. Nunan, you said you had information about Tommy Sour's murder."

"I have faith you'll find out who killed him," she declared, her eyes wide to convey honesty. "And Tommy wouldn't want me to grieve forever…" Her eyes wandered around the room while Booth struggled for a way to end the conversation. "Look at all of these commendations," she gushed. "You're really good at your job, aren't you? ...It's one of the reasons I'm drawn to you."

"Ma'am, this is way inappropriate," Booth told her, his voice firm as he stepped backward instinctively. The change in his tone did nothing to deter her however, and he flinched a little when she laughed as though he had just told a joke.

"'Ma'am!' That is so cute! I can't wait to tell my mom you just said that," she giggled. When her laughter faded, she gave him one last lovesick smile before stepping toward the door. "Well… Bye for now."

Booth watched her disappear down the hallway, feeling an odd sense of foreboding. He'd never been stalked before, at least to his knowledge, and he knew now that Sweets had been correct in his assessment of Pam Nunan. She may not have murdered Tommy Sour, but she had certainly been stalking him. And now it seemed she had found a new object of her unwanted affections. Him.

He decided to put the gift bag full of socks into an evidence bag before leaving the office, and his concerns over Pam Nunan's obvious fixation followed him all the way home. He was surprised to find Max sitting alone in front of the television when he arrived.

"You know, this 'Reality TV' is absolute crap," Max told him, shaking his head in disapproval. Booth snorted quietly.

"Guess it's been a while since you've watched much TV."

"Other than the news now and then, yeah," his father-in-law agreed.

"Where's Bones?"

"She went to bed a little while ago. She's looking a little run down." Max's expression shifted into that of a concerned father, and Booth nodded ruefully.

"She's doing much better than she was before the trial… I guess it's just taking her some time to catch up."

Max inclined his head in acknowledgment but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, and Booth said goodnight shortly after. Max was fairly certain that his daughter had been physically ill that morning, but she had obviously wanted to avoid drawing anyone's attention to it. He had decided to let it go for the time being, but he resolved to keep a closer eye on her in the meantime.

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For the second consecutive morning, Brennan struggled with nausea as she got ready for work. She darted to the guest bathroom while Booth was in the shower and spent several minutes dry heaving over the toilet. Max hadn't yet made it downstairs, and he was waiting outside the bathroom door when at last she felt it was safe to emerge.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked, looking her over in concern. "You're very pale, and you still look exhausted."

"Thanks," she grumbled, rolling her eyes a little. "I'm fine, Dad. It's probably just the onset of viral gastroenteritis."

"If you say so," Max shrugged. He gave her an odd sort of smile, as if he knew something she didn't, and he disappeared down the stairs toward the kitchen. Brennan hoped he didn't plan on making bacon again.

When Booth and Brennan arrived at the lab that morning, they were surprised to see Sweets waiting for them in her office. He had completed his profile of Tommy Sour's killer, and he was eager to show them a few things he had found on Tommy's MySpace page.

"He's got an okay voice," Booth shrugged, "but he's trying a bit hard. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, there are two types of performers," Sweets explained. "Presentational singers crave attention. It's ego-driven. The representational singer wants the audience to feel. It's about invoking a cathartic experience."

"He's showing off."

"Presentational," Sweets agreed. "Easy on the eyes, easy to forget. One hit wonder at best." Brennan wanted to argue with him, but Booth had pulled up a chair and positioned it directly between her and Sweets. She opted for a slight change of subject.

"How'd it go with Pam last night?" Brennan asked her husband. She'd fallen asleep before he'd gotten home, and she'd been so distracted by her nausea and lightheadedness that morning that she'd momentarily forgotten the meeting he'd had with Pam Nunan.

"Wait, you saw her again?!" Sweets said in alarm.

"Yeah," Booth admitted with a scowl. He now wished that he'd been more cautious about meeting the woman. "She said she had information about the victim, but I never did get it out of her. She gave me socks," he grumbled reluctantly.

"Socks?" Brennan echoed.

"That's not good," Sweets insisted. Booth was well aware of the implications, but Brennan asked Sweets to clarify. "Pam Nunan is attempting to control your emotional agenda through seeming vulnerability followed by generosity. It's classic manipulation."

"I put the gift into evidence, and if it doesn't end up being relevant, I'll mail them back," Booth promised. He certainly had no desire to be in the same room with Pam ever again, alone or otherwise.

The conversation shifted back to Tommy's MySpace page, and Brennan pointed out that he had been on the verge of releasing an album. It somehow triggered a childhood memory for Brennan, and she smiled nostalgically.

"Until I was thirteen, I wanted to be the next Cyndi Lauper," she admitted aloud. Booth grinned back.

"Seriously?"

"The other girls and I referred to her as 'rad.'" Both men were now smiling indulgently at her revelation. "My mother said that I sang just as well."

"As well as Cyndi Lauper?" Booth asked, somewhat placatingly.

"Yes."

"Mothers do that," Sweets nodded. "It's healthy."

"No, this wasn't just flattery," Brennan insisted. "My mother _told_ me that I sang 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' better than she did."

"It was an expression of affection, Dr. Brennan. Not an objective evaluation of your abilities."

"Well, I think you're wrong," she shrugged.

"Okay, then," Booth chuckled. "Go ahead. Belt it out."

"No," Brennan replied, looking appalled at his suggestion. "I can't just burst into song. I have to have music and… an appropriate atmosphere of… frivolity."

Both men snickered quietly, and Sweets drew their attention back to the video that was still playing. He paused it quickly and pointed out that as Tommy had been serenading a woman at the bar, another patron could be seen scowling at them angrily. Brennan studied the man's face, remembering the performance they'd seen him give the night before.

"He plays the guitar," she recalled, a triumphant smile gracing her beautiful features.

"Yeah…"

"That's how Tommy died."

Booth and Sweets followed her curiously as she bounded up from her chair and headed toward the platform. She and the rest of the team performed a quick experiment using a guitar string and a tall block of cheese. The string cut through the cheese easily.

"The guitar string could easily be the murder weapon," she announced.

"Because it cut the cheese?" Booth asked, his determinedly serious expression twitching.

"Because the exemplary wound approximates the tool marks on the victim's C5."

"Yeah, he knew that," Cam smiled. "He just wanted to say 'cut the cheese.'"

Every male on the platform giggled like a five-year-old, and the women merely rolled their eyes in good humor. After a quick reenactment in which Zack, as usual, played the part of the victim, Booth left the lab to bring the guitarist in for questioning. He promised to call Brennan if anything new came up.

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While Booth interrogated the guitarist, Brennan spent a little time catching up on her emails. They'd had a habit of building up on her lately, especially when there was an active case. As she scanned through the dozens of unread messages, one in particular caught her attention. Her doctor's office had sent an automated reminder that it was time to schedule her yearly gynecological exam. She frowned and double-checked the date. A chill moved through her body, traveling from her scalp to her toes, and her hands fell involuntarily to her abdomen. It was as flat as it had ever been, but still...

Her period was late. _Very_ late, she realized in shock as she flipped backward in her calendar. She hadn't documented a menstrual cycle since early March, and it was now nearing the end of May. Brennan had been so worried and focused on her father's trial and the possibility of losing him that she'd shrugged off her irregularity as yet another consequence of high stress, but there was no way anxiety alone could cause her to miss _two_ periods. Her mouth fell open as everything clicked into place. The persistent nausea, the dizziness and lightheadedness, the changes in her appetite and sleeping patterns, even the fainting in Angela's office…

 _I even considered eating_ _ **pie**_ _,_ she cringed mentally. She felt like an idiot for misreading the signs.

Unable to go another minute without knowing for sure, Brennan practically sprinted from the lab to the nearest convenience store and picked up a home pregnancy test. Her heart seemed to flutter with excitement, but she was trying to control her response until she confirmed her suspicions. She returned to the lab and headed straight for her private bathroom.

Brennan followed the instructions and placed the test on the counter, forcing herself not to look at it as she washed her hands. While she waited for the requisite five minutes, her mind wandered. Adding another child to their family would change their lives dramatically. Brennan had never been fond of change, but for once in her life, she felt no apprehension at the prospect. She knew that they were ready; being able to take care of Andy even in the midst of a case had proven that. The way she had bonded with him as well as with Parker was proof enough that she was ready to be a mother, and she knew that Booth would be ecstatic over becoming a father again.

She spent the remainder of the five minutes breathing evenly in an attempt to control her excitement, and when at last the time was up, her heart was pounding as she looked down at the tiny window.

 _Positive._

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 **Awwww, Mama Bones. So next chapter is the final one, and as you might have noticed, the last episode I'm covering isn't actually the finale. All will be explained in time. :) I actually haven't decided on boy or girl or names and all that. I'd welcome your opinions. Maybe we could even put it to a vote. I don't mind sticking with canon though.**

 **Review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Well, I can't believe it, but this is the final chapter. All good things must come to an end. :) I decided to post a bit early as a way of saying thank you all so much for your feedback and encouragement. Thanks especially to my beta chosenname. She proofs in exchange for spoilers. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

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Chapter 22

When Booth returned to the lab later that afternoon, Brennan had gotten her elation under control for the most part. She was vaguely aware of the glowing smile that seemed to be permanently etched on her face, but at least she wasn't vibrating with excitement anymore. She wanted so badly to simply blurt out the news the second she saw her husband, but the timing didn't feel right.

She wanted to be able to celebrate properly, and they couldn't really do that in the middle of a case. Brennan decided to hold off for at least another day or two, preferably once the case was closed. In the meantime, she mentally practiced the words she would use when the opportunity presented itself.

Booth had been able to clear the guitarist as a suspect, but the man had been able to give him another lead. Apparently, Tommy Sour had cosigned a business loan with his boss, Dr. Jason Bergman. The money had been intended for the Valera Wellness center, but Tommy had used the funds to produce his album instead. The financial obligation had then fallen upon Dr. Bergman, who was reportedly very angry with Tommy for his duplicity.

They returned to the wellness center in search of Dr. Bergman, but one of his employees told them that he hadn't come to work that day and wasn't answering his phone. Booth put out a BOLO on the man, but since there was nothing more they could do about his disappearance, they decided to call it a day.

As they shared an enjoyable dinner with Max, Brennan felt her father's eyes upon her more than once. He was wearing that secretive smile again, but this time it shone just a little brighter. Brennan wondered what her own expression must look like. She still felt exhilarated at the realization that she carrying Booth's child, and it was impossible to keep a straight face. Booth had noticed her good mood, but he hadn't pushed her to reveal the reason for it.

Their case progressed quickly the following day thanks to a timely revelation from Hodgins. Dr. Bergman had been picked up by highway patrol a few states away, but Hodgins interrupted their interrogation to report on the particulates he'd gathered from the victim's damaged vertebrae. The evidence led them away from Dr. Bergman, indicating instead that the weapon had been a clay-cutting wire such as those used by sculptors.

With that vital information in mind, Booth and Brennan returned to Tommy Sour's apartment building to arrest the first person they'd questioned in his murder: his neighbor Adam Matthews. He admitted that he had assaulted Tommy with the intent to merely frighten him into complying with Adam's repeated requests for less noise. Tommy's relentless singing practice had been a maddening distraction, and the annoyance had persisted until Adam had lost control of his anger.

Both partners were relieved that the case was closed, though for different reasons. Brennan was eager to give her husband the news of her pregnancy, and Booth was hopeful that solving Tommy's murder would encourage Pam Nunan to move on. He decided not to stress any further over the situation. Brennan's persistent good mood had brightened his own considerably, and it was in that spirit that he invited the squints, Sweets, and Max to the Checkerbox that evening.

Booth had heard his wife sing on several occasions, but it had always been in soft, quiet tones. He knew that she had a pleasant voice, but her story about loving Cyndi Lauper's music had made him long to see her on stage. Though he had regarded the various performers at the Checkerbox with a fair amount of indifference, he hoped that he would be able to convince her to share her talent. If nothing else, it would help her to connect with the happy young girl she'd once been.

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Brennan looked at the neon sign outside of the Checkerbox and narrowed her eyes in confusion. When Booth had told her that they were going out, she had assumed he'd meant dinner at one of their usual haunts. She was even more surprised to see the faces of her co-workers and her father when they entered the bar.

"What are we doing here, Booth? I thought you didn't like this place." She watched a sly grin light up his handsome face.

"You need to sing in front of a live audience," he said excitedly. "It's innate, right?"

"No way…" Her eyes widened as they fell upon the stage, empty but for a piano and an accompanist who was warming up for 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.'

"Hey, I've got the music, the frivolity… What else do you need?" He smiled as though extending an irresistible challenge. Their friends cheered enthusiastically.

"Come on, Dr. Brennan, you can do it!" Hodgins encouraged her. "We're here for you!"

"You're very controlled, Dr. Brennan," Sweets said, nudging her gently toward the stage. "I think it would be good for you to let yourself go. Trust yourself. Trust your friends."

Brennan allowed herself to be pushed onto the stage, smiling in bemusement as her friends shouted their support. She laughed, shaking her head at Booth as she stepped up to the microphone. He had managed to surprise her, and she had a pretty good idea of just how to surprise him in return. She would sing for him and then tell him she was pregnant. _Maybe I'll even do it from the stage…_ Satisfied and excited with her plan, she whipped her jacket off and tossed it aside just as the music began to build.

" _Come home, in the morning light,_

 _My mother says 'when you gonna live your life right?'_

 _Oh mama dear, we're not the fortunate ones,_

 _And girls, they wanna have fun._

 _Oh, girls just wanna have fun."_

Booth's smile was so wide that his cheeks ached as he watched his wife sing. She was wonderful, so full of life and happiness that it seemed to radiate from her. Every eye in the room was focused on her, and her enthusiasm was infectious.

" _The phone rings, in the middle of the night,_

 _My father yells, 'what you gonna do with your life?'_

 _Oh daddy dear, you know you're still number one,_

 _But girls, they wanna have fun._

 _Oh, girls just wanna have fun."_

Booth was distracted by the sound of his given name being shouted from behind him, and he was still smiling at Brennan's performance when he turned around. The grin shifted to concern immediately, however, when he spotted Pam Nunan standing near the bar. She held a revolver in her hand, and it was pointed directly at Brennan. His response was instantaneous and instinctive.

Brennan faltered in confusion when Booth turned to look behind him. Time seemed to slow and stretch, turning seconds into eons as she watched the horrific scene unfold. Pam raised a gun and aimed it toward the stage, saying something to Booth that Brennan couldn't decipher. She watched in terror as her husband stood up quickly, placing himself directly in the path of Pam's bullet. Then time seemed to stop altogether.

Pam pulled the trigger, and Booth's body jerked with the force of the impact. The sound of the gunshot and the screaming that followed were lost in the rush of blood and adrenaline that filled Brennan's ears. She leapt down from the stage and raced toward Booth. The few short steps seemed to take hours, and she reached her husband just as he collapsed. His eyes were wide, stunned, and frantic as they searched for her face.

In one brief moment of clarity, Brennan looked back at Pam. The shock of her own actions was prominent in her expression, but it quickly gave way to anger once more. Brennan saw the gun start to move upward from Pam's side, and in a move as instinctive as Booth's had been, Brennan pulled the firearm from his holster, aimed, and fired one shot. The bullet landed dead center in Pam's throat, and she fell to the floor, the life leaving her eyes almost immediately.

Brennan didn't spare her another glance before returning her attention to Booth. His eyes were still focused on her, but she wasn't sure if he was actually seeing her. The bullet had hit his right shoulder, and the wound was bleeding copiously. Brennan pressed her hand against the saturated material of his green canvas jacket, pleading with him to stay awake, to fight.

She vaguely registered that someone was calling an ambulance, but she couldn't look away from her husband. He seemed dazed, and Brennan's fear elevated her desperate pleas to full-on shouts of panic.

"Come on! Come on, Booth! You're gonna make it! You have to! Come on!" she begged. The squints watched tearfully as she hugged Booth to her chest and wept. "Don't you dare leave me. You promised, Booth. You swore you'd never let anything take you away from me. Don't you dare break that promise. Come on!"

Brennan continued to plead with him even after his eyes had drifted shut. People moved about them as she cradled his head and shoulders in her arms, and Max had joined them on the floor at some point. He kept a finger on Booth's pulse and watched anxiously for the arrival of the paramedics. When at last they arrived, Booth's pulse was faint but steady. Everyone watched in horrified silence as he was loaded onto an ambulance, Brennan climbing in right after him.

As they drove at top speed to the nearest hospital, the paramedics continued to work on him. They ordered Brennan to stay back, and although she obeyed, she never stopped talking to him. Her mind flashed back to previous ambulance rides… After the bomb in her refrigerator, after he rescued her from Kenton, after Peter, after she rescued him from Gallagher… They'd been in this situation too many times, and she was terrified that their luck might have changed. Booth had made it through so much in his life, and he'd always survived. What if this time was different?

Tears streamed from Brennan's eyes in a continuous river that flowed over her cheeks and dripped from her jaw. _I can't lose him now, not when we've finally made a child together. A child he doesn't even know about yet…_

When they arrived at the hospital, she was pushed out of the way so that the doctors could assess his injury. Within minutes Booth was wheeled from the small trauma room, but in her shock, Brennan hadn't been able to follow the doctors' conversation well enough to understand where they were taking him. Her panic level grew exponentially, especially when more than one pair of arms stopped her from following him.

"Ma'am, you need to stay here," a stranger's voice instructed.

"Let go of me! Booth!" Brennan shouted hysterically. "Booth! Stop it! Let go!" She fought against the arms holding her, but she was too overwrought to be successful. The efforts of the hospital staff were soon combined with those of her friends, but Brennan was out of her mind with panic.

"Sweetie," Angela shouted over Brennan's cries. "Bren, please. He's gone into surgery; they're helping him. You have to calm down."

Brennan's pleas finally dissolved into great, heaving sobs that consumed every ounce of energy she had left. The hospital employees backed away, leaving her in the care of Angela and Max while she struggled to regain control. Brennan wept until she felt lightheaded, and she welcomed the blackness as it overtook her.

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"Bren?" Angela's voice sounded warped, as though Brennan was underwater, but she struggled to open her eyes in response. She was in another trauma room, and this time _she_ was the one lying on a gurney. Brennan's eyes fell upon her left hand and noted the uncomfortably addition of an IV.

"What's happening with Booth?" she demanded hoarsely, attempting to sit up. Angela helped her to adjust her position.

"He's still in surgery. No one has been out to update us yet, but it's only been a half an hour. They say no news is good news though. It means he's still alive, still fighting."

"When will-" Brennan's response was interrupted by a quick knock on the door followed by the appearance of yet another doctor.

"Dr. Brennan, glad to see you're awake," the young man said politely, shaking her hand. "I'm Dr. Martin. I'm sure you already understand that you fainted due to high stress and anxiety level, but we did run some blood work while you were unconscious. You were dehydrated, so we started a round of IV fluids, but in addition-"

"I know," Brennan said quickly. "We don't need to discuss it right now. I want to know what's happening with my husband." She had no desire to talk about the pregnancy with Angela at that moment. Her primary concern was Booth, and everything else was secondary. She didn't want anyone else finding out about the baby until she'd had a chance to tell her husband. Angela looked slightly confused, but the doctor didn't give her time to question Brennan's interruption.

"Your husband is still in surgery, ma'am. We'll have someone come update you as soon as possible, but for now, try to stay optimistic. He was stable when they took him back for prep, and they're still working on him, which means he's still alive. I know it's difficult, but right now, I really need you to try to relax. We'll let this bag of fluids finish, and then if you're feeling better, I'll discharge you, alright?"

Brennan nodded and glanced at the IV bag. It was nearly empty, and she was pleased that her dizziness had eased considerably. Not ten minutes after Dr. Martin left the room, they were joined by a surgical intern who had come with an update. He basically gave the same information: that he was still stable, still in surgery, and still alive. They had successfully removed the bullet and were now in the process of repairing the damage.

Dr. Martin returned a short while after Brennan's IV fluids had finished, and he agreed to discharge her with the stipulation that someone would stay with her overnight. Brennan rolled her eyes at this and grumbled that there was no way she was leaving the hospital without Booth anyway. The doctor also advised that she stay hydrated and consult her personal physician in the near future. Although he chose his words carefully for Angela's sake, Brennan understood that he was, in fact, recommending that she see an obstetrician.

When Brennan was free to return to the waiting room, she was slightly surprised to see that it had become full of familiar faces. Everyone who had witnessed the shooting had followed the ambulance, but they had been joined by a handful of other people as well. Brennan recognized a few of Booth's friends from the Bureau, Caroline Julian, and Sam Cullen.

She sank into an empty chair and buried her face in her hands, forcing herself to breathe evenly while images of Booth played on a loop in her mind. His proud smile as he watched her from the audience, the way his strong body had collapsed to the floor, his brown eyes dazed and clouded by pain and shock, the blood that stained his favorite jacket and flowed around her fingertips as she applied pressure to the wound… _He'll be okay. He has to be…_

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The minutes crept by at an agonizingly slow pace, and Brennan spent most of them avoiding the pitying gazes of her friends and co-workers. When at last the surgeon called her attention, she stood up quickly, ignoring the dizziness caused by her movement.

"Your husband is in recovery, ma'am. The surgery went well, and we were able to retrieve the bullet and repair the damage," the surgeon explained. "He lost a lot of blood, but I expect him to make a full recovery." Brennan sagged in relief, belatedly realizing that Angela was standing next to her when she felt her friend's arm supporting her slightly.

"When can I see him?"

"He's in recovery now, and then he'll be moved to the ICU. Someone will be out shortly to show you to his room." Brennan thanked the surgeon and shook his hand. _He's okay…_ The words echoed a dozen times in her mind as she dropped back onto the chair she'd vacated.

"Dr. Brennan?" This time it was Cullen who was addressing her. He settled into the seat across from her and leaned forward to pat her on the shoulder in a way that felt almost paternal.

"He'll be okay," Brennan said softly, as though she were still trying to convince herself of it.

"I'm relieved to hear it. I can assure you that he'll have all the time he needs to recover." He paused as Brennan nodded in thanks. "There's actually something I'd like to discuss with you if you feel up to it," he said hesitantly.

"If I don't know what it is you want to discuss, how would I know if I'm up to it?" she asked, frowning in exhausted confusion. Cullen faltered, not sure if she actually expected him to answer.

"Well, uh… I have an idea that I'd like to run by you. I'll talk to Booth about it too when he wakes up, but… There's a guy we've been after for several years now, someone Booth has dealt with personally in the past. They've got some beef between them, and the guy went to ground after the last time Booth saw him. Claimed that the next time Booth saw his face would be at his funeral-"

"Booth's funeral?" she interrupted, scowling at the unpleasant sound of the two words together.

"Yes. Now… Booth is under no obligation, but I'd like to try something a bit unorthodox as a means of luring this guy out in the open. The only story the media has right now is that Agent Booth was shot in a bar by a person of interest in his last case. I'd like to put the word out that Booth succumbed to his injuries-"

"You want to _fake his death_?" Brennan sputtered, shocked at Cullen's audacity.

"Not for long," Cullen assured her quickly. "A couple of weeks at most, just until we can plan a realistic funeral for him at Arlington. We would have agents there undercover to arrest the guy. We'd just need Booth to lay low until it's over."

Brennan's first instinct was to tell him to go to hell, but she was too dazed to follow through. Her brain had been drowning in adrenaline for hours, and the mental exhaustion slowed her reflexes considerably. She sat in silence for several long moments, trying to wrap her head around Cullen's plan. She knew what Booth would say when Cullen presented the idea; he'd approve of the plan without hesitation. Brennan wasn't as eager to help the Bureau at the moment, but she knew that Booth would insist on it.

"You can't just broadcast that Booth is dead," she growled. "What about his family? His friends?"

"We can make sure that the appropriate people are notified of the situation."

"No. _I_ will do the notifying. I won't allow the people who love him to believe he's dead. It's cruel."

"That's fine," Cullen nodded, pleased that she seemed to be agreeing to his plan. "I would appreciate if you would make a list of those you intend to notify, just so that everyone is on the same page."

"Fine," she agreed, already compiling a mental list. "You still have to make sure Booth is alright with it. I can ask him if you want."

"You don't think he'll be on board?"

"No, I'm sure he'll go along with it, but if you're going to fake the man's death, you're at least going to get his personal approval first. You owe him that," she said firmly.

"Fair enough, Dr. Brennan. Thank you."

She nodded stiffly in response, and Cullen left her to her thoughts. A short while later, a nurse appeared to lead her to her husband's room, and Brennan followed the woman eagerly. They wound their way through a series of corridors until they reached the quiet hallway of the Intensive Care Unit.

Brennan hadn't completely known what to expect, but the sight of her husband was a welcome one. He was paler than she'd ever seen him, and his shoulder was heavily bandaged, but this wasn't the first time she'd visited him in a hospital room. His injuries following the refrigerator explosion had been harder to see, and she couldn't help but feel a little relieved at how normal he looked now.

She pulled the solitary visitor's chair to his bedside and took his hand in her own. The nurse had told her that they expected Booth to wake within the next couple of hours as the anesthetics left his system. All Brennan could do was wait.

Once she'd seen for herself that Booth was alive and resting, she returned briefly to the waiting room to speak to her friends and family. She gave them a brief explanation of Cullen's plan and asked them to go home for the time being. She promised to text them with updates on his condition as well as the fake funeral arrangements.

"What about you?" Angela asked quietly.

"What _about_ me?"

"You've been through hell, Brennan. You fainted for the second time in three weeks."

"What?" Max interrupted, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Nothing, Dad."

"Bren, the hospital is taking care of Booth. Who's taking care of _you_?"

"Ange, I'm fine. Booth's okay, so I will be too. Just go home, alright? I'll keep you all updated."

"I could stay with you if-"

"No, really, Angela. It's okay. Go home."

Brennan didn't want to argue about it. She'd told the doctor earlier that there was no way she was leaving the hospital without her husband, and she'd meant it. If Booth was hiding, then she was too. Her friends and family left reluctantly, and Brennan returned to Booth's room. He lay still and silent in the bed, just as she'd left him.

Brennan watched him for signs of consciousness, checking his monitors repeatedly as time moved sluggishly forward. She stepped out of the room just long enough to make the necessary phone calls to Rebecca and Hank. She left a message for Jared, and she knew that her father would handle informing Russ. The more she contemplated Cullen's plan, the more certain she was that it would probably turn out to be beneficial to Booth as well as the Bureau. He was notoriously stubborn when it came to recovering from injuries, and Cullen had, perhaps unwittingly, given her the perfect means of making sure that Booth stayed out of the office for at least a little while.

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 _It's been four hours. Why isn't he awake yet?_

Brennan's eyes continued a pattern of glancing from the clock to Booth's face, and her concern grew as more time elapsed. Just as she made the decision to call for a nurse, Booth's surgeon entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Brennan."

 _It's afternoon already?_ she wondered. Brennan shook the man's hand and tried to force her lips into a polite smile.

"Hello. I thought they said he would be awake by now."

"Well, to be honest, I expected him to come around a couple of hours ago, but the delay is nothing to worry about just yet. Everyone handles anesthesia differently, and some people simply take a longer time to come out of it. His vitals are stable, and at this point, we just continue to wait. If he doesn't wake up in the next few hours, we'll do a head CT, but try not to worry, alright?" Brennan nodded distractedly, wondering if he really expected her not to worry.

"I'd like to see his x-rays please. Pre-op _and_ post-op. I'm a forensic anthropologist," she added when she saw his confusion. His expression cleared and he promised to have a resident bring the films in shortly.

After the doctor left, Brennan returned to her post at Booth's bedside. Her eyes remained locked on his face as her mind began to wander. She thought back to the promise he'd made a couple of months ago… the one she'd begged him to keep as the paramedics had worked over him.

" _I don't ever want to do anything that might take me away from you, Bones. I can't stand the thought of not being with you. You're everything, baby."_

 _And then he went and stood in front of a bullet,_ she snorted inwardly. _He's going to be in big trouble when he wakes up…_ But that thought led to a more troublesome one. _What if he never wakes up?_ Brennan knew that she was probably overreacting, but she also knew that there were many documented cases of people who simply never woke after surgery. It was one of the numerous possible complications listed in the consent forms she'd signed. No one ever thinks that it will happen to them or their loved one, but the fact of the matter was that it _did_ happen sometimes.

 _What if I lose him? What if_ we _lose him?_

She dropped her forehead into her palms and closed her eyes as she berated herself. _It was ridiculously sentimental to think that there had to be one perfect moment to tell him I'm pregnant. I should have told him right away, the moment I suspected it…_

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were praying."

Brennan looked up with a gasp of shock. His eyes were open, and he was looking at her.

"Booth!" Tears of relief spilled over her cheeks, and she squeezed his hand tightly. "You're awake," she breathed. "Are you in pain? I can get the doctor…"

"No, I'm okay. Please don't cry, baby. _I'm okay_ ," he promised, wiping her tears clumsily. Brennan expelled a ragged sigh and stood abruptly, leaning over the bed to kiss him. Her lips moved over his with passion and desperation, as though she feared he might disappear if she stopped.

 _Wow,_ he thought when she eventually pulled back. Before he could voice the thought, however, she blurted out the words she'd been holding inside for nearly two days.

"I'm pregnant."

Booth felt the expression on his face freeze in place as he tried to absorb her words. He wondered vaguely if he might actually be dead or still asleep. Because this felt like heaven or possibly the most wonderful dream he'd ever had. _Pregnant?_ His silence and changing expressions concerned Brennan, and she felt herself growing nervous at his reaction. She'd thought he would be happy...

"Say something," she pled.

"Is this real?" he asked, his voice a little raspy from the intubation as well as the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "I mean, I'm really alive and awake, right? Because if this is my brain trying to give me something amazing to hold onto while I'm dying-" She interrupted him with another kiss, though this one was brief.

"Yes," she beamed at him. "It's real. I'm pregnant." Booth's face lit up like the sun.

"A _baby?_ "

"Yes."

" _We're having a baby?!"_

"Yes!" she laughed. He reached up to pull her back to him, kissing her deeply.

"I love you, Bones," he whispered as he felt his own eyes overflow. She smiled back, wiping his cheeks before favoring him with yet another perfect kiss.

"I love you too."

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 **The End!**

 **So to answer a few of your questions in advance - Yes, I'll be posting an epilogue of sorts. Yes, it will involve a few things from S4. I will _not_ be rewriting episodes, however. That part's all done. That being said, I'd like to know if there are any particular things from S4 (or just in general) that you'd like to read. Squinterns? Ripley? Jared? Roxie? Obviously there can be no plane trips to England or China, and the circus is definitely out. Brennan will be due sometime in December, and I have pregnancy-related things in my notes as well. Not to mention the fallout from the fake funeral and Zack's confession. I'm not covering that episode, but I will talk about how the characters deal with the aftermath. And there will, of course, be at least one smut scene thrown in there somewhere. Because I'm me. Whether all of this ends up being a simple epilogue or a collection of oneshots as I originally planned will depend on how much you guys want to read. So now's the time to give your input!**

 **I hope you've all enjoyed this series, and I look forward to sharing more of my writing. :)**

 **\- Christi**


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